


Lies

by Arianna



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Angst, Case Fic, M/M, Romance, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-02
Updated: 2012-01-02
Packaged: 2017-10-28 18:15:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 40,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/310737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arianna/pseuds/Arianna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been a year since the press conference and, despite doing his job well, Blair's testimony in court is compromised by his reputation as a liar and a fraud.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lies

**Author's Note:**

> Story Concept by Janet.

“Detective Sandburg, you have stated that you witnessed the defendant, Samuel Burns, a highly respected member of Cascade’s business community, meet with a known felon for the purposes of exchanging money for services: these ‘services’ being the murder of Susan Burns, the defendant’s wife. Is that correct?” the defence attorney, Judd Myers, asked, his tone cool, almost distant.

Blair nodded. “Yes, sir. That’s correct,” he replied, striving to project a matter-of-fact calm he didn’t feel. Though it had been nearly a year since he’d strapped on his weapon and slid the badge into his pocket, this was the first time he’d appeared in court, let alone as the key witness in a murder trial. Until now, the DA had been able to call on Jim but, this time, he was on his own. The DA hadn’t been happy but he was all they had and the decision had been taken, reluctantly, to proceed with the case.

“And the only person who can corroborate your story is the felon in question, the man who had already been proven to have killed Susan Burns. Is that correct?” Myers continued pedantically.

“Yes, that’s true,” Blair agreed, his throat dry. _‘Here it comes,’_ he thought, taking a steadying breath.

“Your Honor,” Myers said then, with a glance at the jury, “with all due respect, this is a travesty. How the District Attorney came to the conclusion that my client, a solid citizen and strong contributor to this community, could be put through the trauma of this trial after the tragic and brutal murder of his wife, based only upon the statements of a _three-time loser_ looking to mitigate a life sentence by shifting responsibility onto an _innocent man_ , and a _self-professed liar and fraud who is a disgrace to Cascade’s finest_ , is beyond me.”

Excited murmuring broke out in the courtroom as the Assistant DA, Stan Reynolds, leapt to his feet to get the Judge’s attention, calling sharply, “Objection! Irrelevant and prejudicial –”

Reporters snickered or guffawed as they scribbled their notes, while friends of the defendant shouted out against the DA, forcing the Judge to pound his gavel for order.

“Sustained,” he ruled, glaring at the Defence. “You will confine yourself to questions and not make gratuitous statements for the sole purpose of grandstanding for the jury.” Glancing at Sandburg with a thinly veiled look of personal contempt, he continued to the attorney, “Proceed.”

“My apologies, Your Honor,” Myers replied with a satisfied smile; the Judge’s words took his statement out of the record, but the man’s clear distaste for the witness would be firmly anchored in the minds of the avidly watching members of the jury. “Alright, then, Detective Sandburg, why don’t you again explain to us how it was that you came to witness this so-called ‘pay-off’ for services rendered?”

Knowing full well that the lawyer was going to try to impugn him, Blair proceeded to repeat the information he’d already provided under questioning by the Assistant D.A. Carefully, he reviewed the casework for the jurors, how he and his partner, Detective James Ellison, had obtained sufficient evidence to charge Mickey Sullivan with the murder of Susan Burns and how, through interrogation, they had learned that he had been hired by the defendant to kill the victim. When Sullivan had muttered that he hadn’t even gotten the final payment for the deal and that he’d be damned if he took the fall alone, they had learned who had contracted for her death. Sullivan, in exchange for a reduced sentence, had agreed to participate in a meet with Samuel Burns. The sting operation had been set up, and he and his partner were in position to observe the payment, but Detective Ellison had experienced a sudden allergic reaction to something in the alley where they’d set up surveillance. Detective Ellison had had to leave the immediate scene and there had been no time to bring in additional backup. “As I testified a few minutes ago, I saw Samuel Burns make the pay-off and those funds have been entered into evidence,” he concluded soberly. “I immediately apprehended Mr. Burns and advised him of his rights.”

While the defence attorney paced in front of him, Blair looked past him to Jim, who was sitting stiffly with his eyes downcast at the back of the courtroom. Jim had heard the deal go down, but – the eternal ‘but’ – what he heard wasn’t admissible because he’d been too far away for anyone to believe him. Beside him, Simon was grimacing unhappily. His gaze falling away, Blair could understand his superior’s feelings. They were going to lose this case because a bust that had been righteous wouldn’t hold up against _his_ lack of credibility. Feeling sick, Blair watched Myers and tried not to tense up in anticipation of the blow he knew was inevitable.

Finally, Myers sighed and shook his head. “Detective Sandburg,” he began with painful deliberation, “is it not true that exactly one year ago today, you admitted yourself to be a liar and a fraud on the national news?”

His jaw tightening against the spike of bile in the back of his throat, Blair nodded, and then said huskily, as he knew it was required, “Yes, sir.”

“And isn’t it a matter of record that you lied about your current partner, Detective Ellison, your friend and the person whose home you were and are still living in, claiming him to be a sentinel, a man with enhanced senses, if I understand it, for the purposes of obtaining your PhD based on a fraudulent dissertation?”

“That was the substance of my press conference at the time, yes,” Blair agreed hollowly, bleakly glad the man had phrased the question the way he had. The press conference was, after all, a matter of record, so he could agree to that without committing perjury.

“You were expelled from Rainier University at the time, were you not, and your employment there was terminated, was it not, because of the fraud you had perpetuated?”

“Objection,” the DA called, but wearily, as if he’d already given up.

“Your Honor, I’m going to credibility of the witness,” Myers protested.

“Overruled,” the Judge decided. “Answer the question, Detective.”

“Yes, sir. I was expelled and my employment at Rainier was terminated.”

“So, you freely admit that you lied about your partner, a respected member of the Cascade PD, a man who has several times been accorded awards for his excellence?”

“Yes,” Blair said, striving to keep his face and tone devoid of expression.

“Yes, what, Detective?”

“Yes, I lied about Detective Ellison,” he replied with more strength. Well, he had lied – in front of the cameras. “But I’ve told the truth about what I witnessed –”

Myers cut in sharply, “I think I’ve made my point, Your Honor. I’m finished with this witness.”

Blair stared woodenly at the back wall of the courtroom while the Judge quirked a brow at the Assistant District Attorney, mutely asking if there would be a re-cross, but Reynolds pursed his lips and shook his head. “You’re excused,” the Judge told him and then, as he stood to leave the witness box, added, “This court is in recess for fifteen minutes while I consult with the Prosecutor in chambers.”

Blair forced himself to keep going, across the empty space in front of the jury box, past the defendant, who was having a hard time masking the smug expression on his face, down the aisle past reporters who called out for comments, and out the door into the wide corridor beyond. Conscious of Jim and Simon on his heels, he was hard-pressed not to break into a run, to get away, to find a place to hide, however briefly, to pull himself together and pretend, once more, that it didn’t matter. But it did matter. That bastard was going to walk because … because he had no credibility, even after nearly a year of conscientiously doing his job as well as he could. God, he hoped that, if the DA threw the case in now, double jeopardy would not be invoked if they ever did get enough evidence to tie Myers to his wife’s murder. He clung to the belief that a mistrial wasn’t the same thing as a verdict of innocence so, maybe, they could continue to work on the case – if they didn’t get nailed for harassment. Shit. Some days he felt he couldn’t win for losing.

“Hold on, Sandburg,” Simon called as he grabbed Blair’s arm to stop his retreat. “We need to wait to see what Reynolds decides.”

It was all Blair could do to resist pulling away, to hold back a bitter retort. There was no point in waiting; they all knew what the outcome was going to be. But he stopped and swallowed and nodded stiffly, allowing Simon to draw him toward the stairwell, and he followed his boss and his rigidly silent partner to the DA’s offices a flight below.

They sat in morose silence for a long half hour, waiting for the axe to fall. Finally, Reynolds arrived, still flushed from the discussion with the Judge, and a chewing out by his boss that he’d been a fool to even try to make the case based on Sandburg’s testimony alone. “It’s done,” he told them abruptly. “The charge against Burns has been dropped. As we speak, he and his lawyer are celebrating with the media outside. Sandburg, you might want to go out the back way.”

“I’m sorry,” Blair said quietly, striving for dignity but sounding defeated. “It was worth a try. He is guilty. And … and we had to … had to find out, I guess, if I could ever be credible on the stand.”

Reynolds looked away, his expression closed, and his tone was cool as he replied, “You’re right; it was worth a try, and now we know you can’t survive scrutiny on the stand. Not yet, anyway. Maybe not for a long time.” Moving behind his desk, he added, effectively dismissing them, “I guess we’re done for the day.”

They stood and moved out of his office. Out in the corridor, Banks said stoically, “He’s right, Blair. You’d better go out the back.” Glancing at his watch, he added, “It’s late. By the time you get home and changed, there’ll be no point in coming back to the office. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Thanks,” he said, his tone empty. “Jim, I’ll, uh, I’ll take care of the grocery shopping on my way home.”

His partner nodded but still avoided eye contact. Understanding that Jim probably felt even worse than he did about it all, Blair briefly touched his friend’s arm consolingly, and tried not to react when Jim flinched away. Letting a breath out slowly, he looked up into Simon’s unreadable gaze, and then turned away to the back entrance.

* * *

As they skirted around the crowd on the courthouse steps, Simon said under his breath, “You know, Jim –”

Abruptly, sounding harassed, Ellison cut him off, “Leave it alone, okay? Just … just leave it alone.”

“You can stick your head in the sand as much as you want, Detective,” Banks replied icily. “But your partner needs some support right now, at least privately. Nothing’s gotten any better in the past year. From what I can see, it’s only gotten worse; today sure in hell didn’t help. And I’m a mite tired of seeing him carry all the weight of trying to work it out.”

The throb of the muscle along his clenched jaw revealed strong emotion, but Simon wasn’t sure whether he was seeing anger, frustration or despair. Sighing, he clamped a hand over Jim’s shoulder. “Look, I know it’s hell for you, too. Go home. Take care of each other.” When Ellison nodded and started to move away toward his own vehicle, he added, “And, for God’s sake, don’t take any calls tonight. The media will be after you both. If I need you, I’ll call on your cell.” When the only response he got was a half-assed wave as Jim strode swiftly away, he pulled out a cigar and viciously bit off the end before lighting it. Inhaling deeply, he tried to rein in his own anger and despair on Sandburg’s behalf. Myers had been right about one thing. It was all a fucking travesty and, sometimes, there really was no justice.

* * *

At first, as he made his way to his car in the nearby parking lot, and then began the drive home to change, Blair tried hard not to think about anything, and certainly not about his disastrous court appearance. Instead, he occupied himself with what had become his mantra over the past year since his press conference. “I’m not sorry about what I did. I’d do it again, given the choice. It was the right thing to do.” And then he added for good measure, to remind himself that it wasn’t all about ethics and integrity and other similarly dry motivations, but rather an act undertaken with passion, “I love Jim. I will always, no matter what, love Jim. He’s worth whatever it takes.” When even that failed to lighten his mood, he pulled out his ‘last resort’ mantra, the one he’d drawn upon with ever-increasing need in the past months. “I got what I wanted, the only thing I really wanted. I got to be Jim’s official partner. I got what I wanted.”

But when he got well and truly stuck in a traffic foul-up resulting from an argument between a truck and a light standard, he pounded his steering wheel with frustration. The need to concentrate on driving home without incident had forced him to keep his thoughts, his memories, at bay, but now … now there was no distraction and the mantras weren’t enough. He was stuck, going nowhere fast and was going to remain stuck in that traffic for while – and, abruptly, he felt as if it were all a metaphor for his life. He was indeed stuck and going nowhere fast.

Resigned to the disaster of his day, he put the gear in park, shut off the engine and scrubbed his hands over his face. “What the hell am I doing?” he muttered. “What am I achieving, if anything?” Leaning his head back on the seatrest, he shook his head. “Well, let’s see, I’m having a first-class pity party and doing it alone, which is the best kind of pity party to have,” he whispered dejectedly, and then snorted. Rationally, he knew he’d been doing a good job as a detective. He and Jim had solved several crimes in the time since he’d gotten his badge, just as they’d done when he was an observer. That much hadn’t changed. And, he’d been lucky. So far, at least, he hadn’t had to kill anyone in the line of duty. Emotionally, he’d felt some pride in his achievements, in his ability to adapt and carry on, to ignore the snide asides and appreciate all that was yet good in his life. He was still living in the loft. And, even better than when he was still at Rainier, he got to spend nearly every waking minute of every day with Jim. For most of the past twelve months, the gratitude for that simple reality had carried him through everything else that wasn’t so positive.

But he couldn’t keep pretending that, basically, everything was fine. It wasn’t. He was living a fantasy that was increasingly hard to sustain: the fantasy that Jim actually still wanted him around, still needed him, and so that made everything else alright.

Only … Jim didn’t seem to need him much anymore. His partner was a truly great detective and sure didn’t need his input to solve cases. And, as a sentinel? Well, Jim had been demonstrating an extraordinarily good grasp of his abilities. He’d learned a huge amount in the past several years and there wasn’t much more, well, nothing more that Blair could think of, that Jim needed from him on that score.

As for as Jim wanting him around – well, if he did, then he was doing an ever-increasingly good job of hiding it. He’d grown more and more taciturn as the months rolled past, ever more abrupt and irascible which, given how unforthcoming and irritable Jim could be, was really saying something. Not that he should be a font of overwhelming gratitude for the contributions Blair made to their cases; after all, it was his job to make those contributions. But an occasional, ‘Good idea, Chief,’ or ‘Good job, Chief,’ or even, ‘Hey, Chief, wanna grab some lunch,’ wouldn’t go amiss. Actually, it would be great if he’d just call him something other than Sandburg all the damned time, when he used an appellation at all.

And it wasn’t just at work, either. At home, they were reduced to making dinner and eating it with little conversation, and then sitting in front of the boob-tube until it was time to go to bed. Sighing, Blair remembered the last time they’d done anything for fun together … when they'd gone to a Jags’ game five months before.

All in all, Jim didn’t strike him as a happy guy, and sure didn’t seem happy with him. And, he had to admit ruefully, he wasn’t all that happy himself, and hadn’t been for some time. Drumming his fingertips on the steering wheel, watching as activity progressed up ahead to clear the road, he reflected on something his mother had said with a gay lilt in her voice, a very long time ago when he’d been sulking about not getting the microscope he’d wanted for his birthday, “Oh, Blair, sweetie, I can’t make you happy. Don’t you know that only you can make you happy? It’s not about whether or not you have a microscope, but whether or not you choose to be happy.”

Her words hadn’t consoled him much. Grimacing, he remembered about all that he’d heard of her message at the time was that his happiness was up to him, so he’d stolen a microscope. Only, he’d always felt guilty whenever he used it, so even that hadn’t made him happy. It hadn’t been until he was a freshman at Rainier that he’d understood the profound validity of her message. He’d been chafing under the weight of being different, of being mocked and ridiculed and held to higher account by his professors than other students, ‘because he was brilliant so they expected more of him’, and he’d been ready to toss it all in. But the very idea of giving up what he had, the excitement of learning, of being on his own on the greatest adventure of his life, had scared him silly. Her words had come back to him, then. And he’d understood them, finally.

And he’d chosen to be happy.

Since then, he had been happy nearly all the time until, well, about eighteen months ago. But he still hadn’t quite gotten over Jim kicking him out of the loft, or dying, or seeing Jim passionately kiss his murderer. He’d done a lot of meditating about it all, had finally let the anger go … but things weren’t ever quite the same between them after Alex. Still, he’d had hopes they’d gradually find their way back if he just stuck it out. And he’d always believed that Jim had felt the same way, that there was hope for them. But then the whole dissertation thing had blown up – and, given his experience in the courtroom, that mess was still having seismic aftershocks and might well continue to shake his world for the rest of his life. And, well, despite what Jim had said in the hospital, about him being the best partner and best friend Jim had ever had – and even though Jim and the others had seemed genuinely glad to offer him the badge – somehow the easiness had never returned, the banter and laughter and fun and whatever it was they’d once had remained a casualty of events that couldn’t be undone.

Nor was it just Jim. Nobody seemed the same, or treated him the same way they had before the dissertation mess. Oh, he hadn’t expected to retain any of his contacts from Rainier, nor had he thought all his brothers and sisters in blue would welcome him with open arms. But he’d thought things would be okay, normal, with the gang in Major Crime. But Megan had gone back to Australia, and Rafe had taken decided being a detective didn’t fit the lifestyle he truly wanted – and was costing him a fortune in dry cleaning – so he’d moved on. Their replacements didn’t seem interested in getting to know Blair, despite a few – more than a few – overtures on his part. He couldn’t really blame them, not with his public reputation. Joel was still kind, but seemed kinda sad around him most of the time, and Brown, wounded by Rafe’s defection, didn’t do much jive-talking anymore. Just focused on doing his job. Rhonda had been promoted to the Chief’s Office and Simon? Well, Simon just seemed ever more distant, business-like; he was the ‘Captain’ and no longer a friend.

He’d often thought he should talk to Jim, but he didn’t hold a lot of hope that Jim would talk back. He figured that Jim was burdened with guilt, that the whole offer of a permanent partnership was about guilt, on both his part and Simon’s, because they knew what was truth and what was lies. They’d thrown him a life preserver when he’d really needed it, and now they were stuck with him. And though the others in MCU, and indeed the Chief’s and DA’s offices also knew about Jim’s abilities, they weren’t something anyone talked about. And the folks in Records probably had their suspicions after every single one of Jim’s case files for the previous four years was pulled and examined not long after the media mess, to ensure they could substantiate that his arrests had been the result of good old-fashioned detective work and not his unusual senses. And, no doubt, some of the uniformed personnel who had seen Jim do his stuff at crime scenes, the people in Forensics, and Dan Wolf probably guessed there was more going on than anyone told them. But there’d been no further leaks, no more questions. Everyone was engaged in keeping the secret, and that was as it should be. But it made it hard to raise the subject with Joel – let alone anyone else – and tell him he didn’t have to feel badly about the choices Blair had made. And he could understand Brown’s need to heal in his own way; hell, if he lost Jim, he’d be devastated.

But none of that changed his mother’s wisdom, that it was ultimately his own choice as to whether he was happy with life or not. Was he? Could he be? He shook his head; he wasn’t sure, but he decided it was something he needed to spend time meditating about. Glancing at his watch, he realized that time was marching on, in more ways than one. For the short term, he was going to have to forego changing out of his suit before doing the grocery shopping, if he hoped to be home in time to honour his turn of making their dinner. What the hell, shopping wouldn’t do any harm to the suit. Chewing on his lip, he figured that as far as any long terms plans went, he’d have to decide to be happy. And, if he couldn’t do that, then maybe he should be moving on before either he or Jim grew any more unhappy than they were now.

After all, he didn’t have to be Jim’s partner and live in the loft to be unhappy. That he could do anywhere.

“Poor, poor, pitiful me. Poor, poor, pitiful me,” he sang low under his breath, thinking the lyrics of the country and western song pretty much summed things up. But a small grin of irony played around his lips, the misery too difficult to sustain. Choosing to be happy had been a life habit for nearly fifteen years, and one that was hard to break. Nor did he really want to break it. “Screw it,” he decided emphatically. “It’s too damned soon to give up. I like the job and could even love it. I love Jim and living at the loft. I got what I most wanted out of life and I’ll be damned if I won’t be grateful for that. I’m gonna do the shopping and make something great for dinner and tell Jim not to worry about today. It’s not like this was unexpected. We’re friends, used to be great friends, and if that and working together are all I end up salvaging, then that’s enough. More than enough. Even if I have to move on, if he can see me as a friend again, that’ll be enough. More than maybe I deserve.”

The stalled traffic began to inch forward as the logjam ahead was cleared away and he went back to chanting his mantras, this time with more positive energy.

* * *

Nearly incandescent with fury, Jim climbed into his truck and slammed the door. “Goddammittohell,” he growled, as he shoved the key into the ignition. “Bullshit. It was all bullshit.” But even as the motor roared into life, his fists gripped the steering wheel because it was the only thing he had that he could hold onto. He sat back and panted for breath, desperately struggling to fight off the stinging burn in his eyes and the gargantuan lump in his throat.

It was all so massively unfair. All of it. When the defence attorney had lauded him as a model partner and cop, it had been all he could do not to vomit, or surge to his feet, shouting in outrage that the bastard didn’t have a clue what he was talking about. “Fuck,” he gasped, closing his eyes. He knew, he’d almost always known, that life wasn’t fair, but he'd also done what he could throughout his life to make a difference, to make things fair when and where he could. Except now, except for the last twelve months. Shit, he hadn’t even realized that today was the anniversary of that press conference. Twelve months, fifty-two weeks, three hundred and sixty-five days, he and Blair had been perpetuating the myth that the dissertation was fraudulent.

And it was killing him, eating away at him like acid.

Given how increasingly quiet and withdrawn Sandburg had become, it didn’t seem to be doing him a whole hell of a lot of good, either.

His senses, his damned senses – the ones that had failed him during the sting and left Sandburg to witness the transaction on his own. His senses that kept them muzzled. His senses had led to Blair’s public humiliation on the stand that day. His, him. It was always all about him. And it wasn’t right.

They should never have proceeded with the charges. Should never have let Sandburg get on that stand. What? Had they all been too stupid to realize that a year wasn’t enough? How long would be enough? How long before Blair didn’t carry the stigmas of ‘liar’ and ‘fraud’, as if they’d been branded on his forehead?

“Ah, Chief,” he whispered hoarsely, covering his face with his hands. “I never wanted this. Never wanted you hurt like this.” Sighing deeply as he shifted the gear into drive and pulled out of the parking lot, he murmured, “All I ever wanted to do was love you.” Sniffing, impatiently swiping his hand over his eyes, he added bitterly, “But I’ve sure screwed that up, haven’t I?”

On his way home, he thought about how he’d been screwing up for a long time, one incident piling up over another, right from the time when he’d blown up over the first chapter of Sandburg’s dissertation, when he wasn’t supposed to have read it in the first place. One abrogation of trust after another, from failing to talk about his vision of killing the wolf and his preoccupation with the spotted panther because he hated the mystical shit, to kicking Blair out and virtually siding with Alex in Mexico – something that would forever make him sick to his soul – to assuming the worst and accusing Blair of betrayal over the dissertation leak. Like Blair would ever, ever willfully betray him. Hell, Sandburg had betrayed _himself_ , his own dreams and self-interests, during that press conference, but Blair had never betrayed him.

“What is wrong with me?” he muttered angrily as he wheeled into his parking spot behind their apartment. And like a ghost, Blair’s voice murmured in his mind, “Fear-based responses, man. Fear-based responses.”

“Yeah, right,” he sighed, disgruntled with the truth. Fear had kept him quiet when he should have been telling Blair how he felt. But he couldn’t imagine what Blair could ever see in him that would could possibly be enough to get, and keep, the man in his bed. Afraid of rejection, he’d kept his mouth closed. Fear of visions he didn’t understand, of being out of control, of being seen as a freak – one fear after another had directed his actions and he supposed those fears still did. But it wasn’t working. He’d never felt more out of control in his life. And he’d never been so scared that he was going to destroy what meant most to him and lose what he most treasured. Hell, Blair wasn’t happy, not at work, not at home. So how much longer would it be before enough was enough and he called it quits?

“You gotta get a grip,” he told himself grimly as he headed inside and up the stairs to the loft. Once there, he unplugged the phone and pulled a beer out of the fridge. Moving out onto the balcony, he kept watch for his partner’s return, wanting to make sure that Blair wasn’t ambushed by a horde of reporters out for blood. Standing there, he tried to decide what to do, what could be done, to somehow make things right.

And for perhaps the millionth time since Blair’s press conference, he wondered if it all wouldn’t be a whole lot easier if he just started telling the truth.

* * *

Blair had nearly finished the grocery shopping, and was studying the relative merits of the sirloins on display, when he heard a low, appreciative wolf whistle followed by a sultry voice observing, “Wow, don’t you clean up nice?”

Startled, he looked up and around to see one of his former students, Madeleine Bauer, grinning at him from behind her own grocery cart. “Hey, Maddie, good to see you!” he greeted her enthusiastically, made hopeful by her broad smile. Most people from his days at Rainier tended to look the other way whenever he encountered them in stores or on the street. “How are you?”

“I’m doing good,” she told him, pushing her cart out of the way so that she could stand beside him and touch the sleeve of his suit. “Very nice threads,” she murmured, and then looked up at him through her lush lashes, clearly flirting. A couple of inches shorter than he was, she was pert and pretty, with a short mop of sunny hair and emerald green eyes. “Somehow, I never expected a law enforcement officer to be so dolled up in the middle of the day – is this your usual ‘uniform’?”

“Uh, no,” he chuckled, shaking his head slowly in bemusement. She’d asked him out during his last year at Rainier, but he had made a point of not dating students so he had turned her down as gently as he knew how, and with no little regret. She had been lively in class, getting into discussions, revealing both a good mind and a quick sense of humour. “I was testifying in court today and didn’t have time to go home and change before doing the shopping.” Remembering his time on the witness stand, his gaze skittered away briefly, but then he looked back at her, curious about her obvious friendliness. “So, did you apply for grad school?”

“Yes, and my acceptance just came through,” she told him as she studied him candidly. “You know, you’re not my professor anymore.”

Feeling somehow chastised for having asked about her academic plans, he dropped his gaze. “No, no, I’m not,” he said quietly.

“So, maybe now you could go out with me?” she suggested with husky hopefulness, tilting her head as she waited for his answer.

Surprised, he looked into her eyes and felt warmth infuse him at the admiration he saw shining there. Slowly, he smiled and nodded, “Yeah, I guess maybe now I could.” But then he thought about what the papers were likely to say about him that night or the next morning, dredging up all the old news one more time, and he hesitated. She might not be so interested once she saw all that again. “Uh, tell you what … you still got my home number?” When she nodded, and her smile widened, he went on, “Okay, then, why don’t you call me later this week and we’ll set something up?”

“Sounds like a plan,” she purred. “Count on it,” she added as she turned away to continue her own shopping. “I’m really glad I ran into you today,” she called over her shoulder as she moved off. “It’s great to see you again!”

“I’m really glad you did, too,” he called back. “I’ll look forward to your call.”

Nonplussed by the brief, unexpected exchange, he stood staring at the spot where’d she’d disappeared down an aisle. His smile faded into thinned lips as he turned back to choose the meat for dinner. She wouldn’t call, he knew that, and he kinda regretted sounding so eager to think she might. Hell, ‘hard up’ was the way he’d sounded. Pathetic, really. Tossing two steaks into his cart, he swiveled it toward the checkout lanes. God, it had been _so_ long since he’d had a date … what? Going on two years? Not that anyone had seemed to notice when he’d stopped hustling dates; certainly, no one had asked why he never had time to go out socially anymore.

Choosing the shortest line and preparing to wait the longest time, as always seemed to happen, he wondered why he’d agreed to go out with Maddie. Not that she was likely to call; she wasn’t. But he didn’t care if she didn’t … hadn’t been interested in going out with anyone for a long time now. Well, why go out when the person he most wanted to be with was at home? Unfortunately, as the months and then years had passed, he’d only gotten signals that Jim wasn’t interested in him. Oh, sure, they were still friends, sort of, though he felt their relationship had been unraveling for a long time, certainly from before the dissertation mess, even from before Alex – it was a miracle, really, that they had anything left at all, let alone that they were still living together and now officially partnered at work. But he felt as if he was clutching onto water, and the harder he held on, the tighter he clenched his fist, the more liquid slipped through his fingers. Or maybe sand was a better analogy, he mused, loading his purchases onto the conveyer belt. Same result: hold on tight and the sand just trickles away. Like the sands of time. No way to stop the flow, no way to turn it back, no way to hold onto ‘now’ because … because tomorrow looked even bleaker than today.

He paid for the groceries and loaded the paper bags into the cart for the short trek through the parking lot. What if she did call? What then? For so long, he’d been only interested in Jim, blind to anyone and anything else in his life. Could he love someone else? He grimaced with disgust at his thoughts, like going out for a drink, or a movie, or to do some dancing would lead to marriage. Shaking his head as he closed the trunk and pushed the cart to a nearby catchment area, he snorted at his idiocy. She wouldn’t call. And, well, if she did, then what could it hurt to go out and have some fun? Might be a good thing, to give Jim a little space and to have a bit of his own. Back at the car, he slid into the front seat and started the engine. No, she wouldn’t call, he thought, gazing at the store for a moment.

But the encounter had been nice. Affirming. As if not everyone in the world believed he was, essentially, a loser. As if at least one person in the world actually found him attractive, and wanted to spend time with him. Briefly, he reflected bitterly that it would be nice if that ‘one person’ was Jim, but then he pulled himself up short. “Enough of the pity party, already,” he growled to himself. “You don’t have to be so damned miserable. You could choose to be happy. Think about it.”

Spotting the reporters outside the loft, his heart sank and he quickly continued around the block and pulled into the parking lot in the back. In danger of sliding into despondency again, and to stave off what seemed the ever-persistent angst of his life lately, he deliberately thought about all the things he had to be grateful for in his life. As he listed them to himself, his friendship with Jim, living in the loft, working at the PD, getting paid to do what he’d done for free for years, Jim’s secret still being secure, his good health, Jim’s good health, his mother’s good health, the sunny summer day … he found himself chuckling by the time he finished unloading the trunk. And a pretty young woman had flirted with him, he recalled cheerfully, rounding off his list as he quickly headed inside through the back door.

Dammit, he _could_ choose how he perceived his life. So what if things hadn’t turned out the way he’d imagined when he was a kid, or even two years before? And who cared what anybody else, particularly people who didn’t have a clue about the truth, thought about him? Wasn’t like his self-respect or self-worth was predicated on anybody’s opinion but that of the man who faced him in the mirror every morning; well, maybe except for Jim’s opinion of him. He knew who he was and what he stood for, and he had nearly everything that mattered to him, right here, right now.

And he’d do his damnedest to hold onto it.

Yeah, maybe it was time to once again _choose_ to be happy.

* * *

He was humming a lively little tune and stepping lightly, nearly bouncing, when he came off the elevator, confusing the sentinel who could hear him and who hastened to the front door, to open it for him. For a moment, Jim regarded him quizzically, and then reached to help carry the grocery bags inside.

“If you don’t mind putting the stuff away, I’ll just get changed out of this monkey suit, and then marinate the steaks,” Blair told him cheerfully. “I’ll sauté the mushrooms and onions, and we’ll have a really humongous salad.” Backing toward his room as he pulled off his tie, he smiled warmly as he went on, “You can probably fire up the barbecue in about a half hour, if you want. Or we can wait to eat until later if you’re not hungry.”

“I could eat,” Jim replied cautiously, his gaze narrowing as he checked out his partner’s vital signs, thinking Blair was maybe just trying to snow him with the evident good spirits routine, but … it seemed as if Sandburg was as cheerful as he appeared. Bemused, more than a bit mystified, he set about unpacking the bags, all the while wondering what had happened between the courthouse and home that had wrought the amazing change of demeanor.

When Blair reappeared, rolling up his shirt sleeves and sporting a worn, comfortable pair of jeans that hugged his hips, Jim was struck by his partner’s jauntiness, as if he didn’t have a care in the world. But the sunny expression clouded momentarily when Blair spotted that the phone was unplugged, so that messages wouldn’t even trip over to the machine. When his gaze lifted to meet Jim’s, he nodded. “Probably a good idea to ensure a pleasant evening.” Moving fully into the kitchen, beside Jim who was still putting stuff away or sorting the salad greens for washing, he began to pull down from the cupboards the sauces and spices he wanted for the marinade. “So, how are you doing, Jim?” he asked evenly. “I know that cross examination wasn’t fun to listen to.”

“Not as well as you are, apparently,” Ellison replied sardonically, crossing his arms as he leaned against the island. “What gives, Sandburg? You find some magic happy pills to take on the way home?”

Chuckling, Blair shook his head. “No, no. I’d only have to arrest myself for use of illegal substances, and where would be the fun in that?” he rejoined with a grin. But once he had the steaks marinating, he turned to face Jim. “C’mon – it wasn’t anything we haven’t been expecting, right? So we move on, keep doing our jobs, and the media will lose interest again in a day or so.” Looking toward the balcony, imagining the crowd on the sidewalk below, he shrugged. “I’m not thrilled that it’s all getting dragged up again, but it’s old news. Won’t hold anyone’s attention for long.”

Reaching out to lightly grip Jim’s arm, he added kindly, “So if you’ve, um, been feeling badly or guilty or something, you can stop now.”

Scratching his throat under his jaw, Jim studied his partner. “How do you do that? How do you get right back up after getting kicked in the teeth, and carry on like … like everything’s okay?”

“Because I am okay,” Blair replied steadily. “Nothing’s changed, has it? We’re still good? Still partnered together? Still living in this great loft? Nobody has died. Everyone is fine, right?” When Jim looked askance at him, he relented and explained, “Okay, so I was down when I left the courthouse. Pisses me off that it’s a mistrial, but better than a verdict of innocence that would let this creep walk. We’ll get the evidence to nail him.” Turning back to start preparing the mushrooms and onions, he continued, “The trick will be to keep on him without being slapped with an harassment charge. But we’re good enough in how we do our jobs that that probably won’t be an issue.” Looking up from the mushrooms he was swiftly slicing, he explained, “So, on the way to the store, while I was stuck in traffic, I thought about it and decided that … well, I decided to be happy. Because I’ve got loads of great reasons to be happy, and none of those reasons have changed.”

“It doesn’t bother you that you’re still taking the heat, even after a year, for protecting me?” Jim demanded, his tone made harsher than he’d intended by the grief and guilt he felt. “Sure in hell bothers me.”

“Yeah, I know,” Blair responded softly. Sighing, casting a quick glance over his shoulder, he said, “You’ve got to let it go, man.”

“Let it go?” Jim shouted but then settled down at the startled look at his vehemence on Blair’s face. “Look,” he went on, holding out a hand in a mute appeal for understanding, “you keep paying the price of personal humiliation because of these damned senses. You wouldn’t even have been on that stand today if they hadn’t screwed up that night in the alley. You wouldn’t still be something of a pariah down at the station if people knew … if they knew what you really did a year ago.” He hesitated and said with downcast eyes and a subdued tone, “I lost track of the date, didn’t realize that’s it’s been a year since ….”

Waving off the concerns with a, “Forget it. Why would you remember the date? It’s not like an anniversary we want to celebrate,” Blair shot him a grin and couldn’t resist adding, “And, well, maybe I’m not still a pariah to _everyone_.” Turning around, wiping his hands on a cloth, he revealed, “Down at the store? One of the students in my senior Anthro seminar on Rituals and Taboos ran into me. She’d asked me out back at Rainier, but hey, she was one of my students, so off-limits, right? But she was definitely flirting today, pointed out that I’m still not her prof and, well, she asked me out again.”

“You’re going out on a date?” Jim replied, a slight frown furrowing his brow before he could banish it. Blair hadn’t been on a date for years and he’d hoped that maybe that had meant ….

“Nah, not yet, at least,” he explained with a glance at the disconnected phone. “I wasn’t sure if she’d still, you know, be interested once she sees the news. So I just suggested she call me in a day or two, and we could work out the details.” Turning away to load the mushrooms into the skillet, he began working on the onions. “She probably won’t call but, still, it was kinda nice, you know?”

Kinda nice? To have one person from his rich past at Rainier treat him like a normal person and want to have contact with him? Kinda nice, even if she wasn’t expected to call once the news of the day’s events in the courtroom hit the streets? Jim closed his eyes and scrubbed at his forehead. Man, the kid was really grasping at straws here to find reasons to be happy. His heart ached, and he longed to pull Blair into a tight hug, to enfold him and hold him close.

But he didn’t have the right, so he went to the fridge and pulled out a couple beers to give himself time to school his reaction into something that approximated being pleased for Blair. Or at least didn’t mock him, he thought, swallowing his reflexive desire to downplay the import of what he’d just heard. Somehow, blurting out, ‘God, anything in a skirt glances at you sideways and you’re on cloud nine, huh, Sandburg?’ wouldn’t be helpful. Though, dammit, the anger that curdled in his belly badly wanted to strike out at someone. Screwing off the caps and handing a chilled bottle to his partner, he muttered, “Yeah, kinda nice.” He swallowed heavily and then, figuring that it was at least for a good cause, he added yet another bald-faced lie to his growing list of everyday untruths. “I hope she, uh, that she calls.”

But as he tossed the caps in the garbage, he wondered if he’d royally managed to screw himself by failing to make his feelings clear when he’d had the chance. Years of chances. Blair was a … an open guy. He wouldn’t judge him harshly for how he felt, and he might even have – but now was sure not the time to wonder about that. Blair had continued on with the chopping for their salad. Briefly, desperate to convey some sort of apology, or support – hell, just to touch – he clasped his partner’s shoulder, and then he pulled out a knife to lend a hand.

Beside him, Sandburg was waging his own war with his feelings. Sure, it had been nice that Maddie had come on to him. Refreshing in a pathetic sort of way. But his enjoyment of the moment crashed and burned when Jim expressed his hope that she’d call, and that reassuring – and very sadly, unusual – touch just then had to be mute commiseration that she probably wouldn’t. All of which only served to reinforce that Jim wasn’t … didn’t … wouldn’t ever ….

Pitifully glad he was able to take a knife to the vegetables, Blair ruthlessly shut down his thoughts and concentrated on making dinner.

* * *

The media had a field day complete with barbecue, skewering Sandburg on their spit and basting him with rancorous reviews of the press conference and its fallout. But they didn’t stop there. As side dishes, they roasted the Cascade Police Department in general, and the Chief, the Commissioner and the District Attorney in particular, for tolerating the presence of such a cheat and inveterate liar in their ranks. To top off the entertainment, they portrayed Jim as a martyr of tolerance and friendship, nobly standing by his friend through thick and thin, when he’d’ve been more than justified in tossing Blair Sandburg out of his life, like so much garbage. Burns and his attorney had such a good time that they decided to offer dessert by speculating on the possibility of suing the PD and Sandburg for slander and false arrest.

Blair felt as if he had entered a deep freeze when they arrived at the station the next morning. All the way through the underground lot, down the corridor and up the elevator, nobody would look at him, let alone speak civilly to him. Indeed, he noticed that anyone in close proximity made a point of pulling away, as if afraid of being contaminated by him. He wondered if this was how lepers felt. Beside him, Jim was a simmering volcano, ready to blow if anyone looked at him sideways or, God forbid, said anything out of line.

With excruciating relief, he shoved open the glass door into Major Crime … and found it wasn’t much better. Joel and Henri’s evident, too evident, sympathy bordering on pity eased the chill from his other colleagues somewhat, but was no less uncomfortable. But when Simon called them in, told them about the possible lawsuits and advised them that Burns was now definitely off-limits to them in terms of further investigation, it was more than he could absorb unflinchingly. Looking like a mangled doll after the last of the stuffing had been brutally ripped out, Blair slumped onto a chair.

“Jesus, Simon,” Jim breathed, rigidly holding the leash on his anger as he stalked to the window and stared out at the street.

“Yeah, I know,” Banks muttered as he sat back down behind his desk. “Look,” he offered irritably, furious that Sandburg was taking so damned much heat, “there won’t be a lawsuit. Burns knows he’s damned lucky to have gotten a walk when he should have gone straight to jail. He won’t want to dredge it all up through more legal action, or give us reason to keep going after him to prove him the cold-blooded murderer that he is.”

Thin-lipped, white as a ghost, Blair nodded slowly as he forced himself to keep taking deep breaths. Shifting in the chair to sit a little straighter, he lifted his solemn gaze to Simon’s irritated visage, and he shivered with the thought that the ire in his boss’s eyes was directed him, at all the trouble he was always causing. “Do you want me to resign?” he asked, doing his best to keep his voice steady.

“What? Hell, no,” Simon rejoined sharply. “There’s a reason – lots of reasons – that you’re here, and none of them have changed,” he went on vehemently. “I’m not about to break up my best team just because the jackasses in the media enjoy a circus every now and then. Why? You want to quit?”

Jim stiffened but didn’t turn around as he waited for his partner’s response. Blair glanced at him, wishing he had some clue about what Jim really wanted, but he didn’t. _Lots of reasons_ , he thought, believing all Simon meant was his help with the senses and his … sacrifice … the year before, to keep them a secret. But, honestly, he admitted to himself that he couldn’t be sure. Could be just that the PD and the DA would look like fools for ever supporting him if he tossed the badge back at them and simply skulked away at this point. All he knew for certain was what he wanted. “No, sir. I don’t want to quit,” he replied firmly.

“Good,” Banks sighed. Reaching for the coffee pot, he asked, “You guys want a cup?” But they shook their heads and he waved them back to their desks. There was always lots of work to do.

“You sure, Chief?” Jim demanded with a quick glance to ensure no one in the office was close enough to hear them. His voice was low and his gaze piercing as he hesitated beside Blair’s desk to probe for the truth, though he was deeply afraid of what the answer might be. “You sure you want to keep putting up with all the shit?”

For a moment, Blair didn’t register the question. He was too lost in the surge of gratitude to hear the old, beloved nickname, and to see the deep concern for him in Jim’s eyes. But he blinked and then realized he had to know. His voice a soft, husky whisper, he asked, “Do you want me to go, Jim? Would it … would it make things easier for you?”

Jim’s jaw clenched tightly and he swiftly shook his head. “No,” he rasped, reaching out to grip Blair’s shoulder. “I know it would probably be best for you to, to ….” But his throat threatened to close, so he just husked again, “No, Blair. I want you to stay.”

“Okay, then,” he replied, with a slight smile of abject relief. ‘Chief’ _and_ ‘Blair’? Another touch that was as welcome as water to a man dying for the need of it. And Jim _really_ didn’t want him to go. Suddenly the day didn’t seem so bad; in fact, things were looking better all the time. “Cause I want to stay, man. I really do.”

Jim’s grip marginally tightened as he nodded, and then he turned away to move to his own desk. Blair blew a long breath, shrugged out of his jacket and, unconsciously humming happily under his breath, got to work.

Hearing the soft humming, Jim looked up in surprise and shook his head, an expression akin to awe on his face. He didn’t know how Blair did it, what well of confidence he perpetually drew upon, but the kid had to be the most resilient person he’d ever known. God, with the pressure he took, most men would have buckled long before. But there he was, diving right back into the work … and, damn, though it had to be a damned good act to hide frustration and despair, the kid looked almost happy. With a quirk of his brow, Jim shrugged and flicked on his computer.

Scratching his cheek as he waited for it to boot up, he thought about how to go about proving Burns’ guilt and figured the best way was to figure out the motive. Did the guy have girlfriend hidden away? Had he been in financial crisis? He was known to be a wealthy man, but most didn’t know that the money had been in his wife’s name. And her life had been insured for another major chunk of change. _When had the policy been bought?_ he wondered with a thoughtful frown. Was his business as solid as his lawyer and the media alleged? Having witnessed the pay-off, they hadn’t pursued the investigation to determine motive, and that had been a mistake. One he was going to correct.

Planting his tongue in his cheek, the picture of perfect innocence, he went to work in direct contravention of the orders he’d just been given. There were a good number of trails he could follow without Burns ever being aware he was still under investigation. With a glance at his partner, Jim promised himself that he’d find a way to make up for the fiasco of yesterday’s trial and the humiliation Blair had been subjected to because of the media feeding frenzy. He was going to prove that what his partner had said on that stand yesterday was nothing but the truth. Burns had contracted to have his wife murdered, and Jim was going to prove it.

* * *

“Yeah, sure, great,” Blair said, looking bemused as he finished a call just as Jim returned from the breakroom and planted a mug of tea on his desk. “See you soon,” he concluded. Hanging up the phone, he grunted, “Huh.” Leaning back in his chair, he raked his fingers through his hair, dragging it off his face.

“What?” Jim asked as he blew on the hot coffee in his own mug.

Blair gave a small shake of his head and then gazed up at his partner, but the look in his eyes was distracted, as if he was still thinking about the call. “That was Maddie,” he replied, sounding … surprised.

And grateful.

Jim felt a hollow flutter in his belly, but kept his trepidation from his face, or he hoped he did, as he asked, “And?”

“And I guess she’s been calling the loft – she wondered if there was something wrong with the phone, because it rang as busy, but didn’t kick over to take a message,” Blair replied distantly. He blinked and shifted forward to pick up the mug Jim had brought. “Thanks, man,” he murmured.

“She called just to say she thinks our phone is busted?” Jim pushed, knowing in his gut that there had to be more.

“Uh, no, not exactly,” Blair murmured. Flicking Jim another quick look, he went on, “She invited me over to her place later for a drink.” He hesitated and then said diffidently, “She said she thought it might be more, um, peaceful than going out somewhere.”

“Uh huh,” Jim returned, his gaze falling away, figuring that it didn’t take a detective to figure out what wasn’t being said, or to read between the lines. Either she was reluctant to be seen with Blair in public or she was just awfully damned sensitive and maybe even kind. Whichever, it seemed the headlines hadn’t put her off wanting to see Sandburg. “So … this is a good thing, right?” he ventured, thinking it was bad, very bad, and hating himself for his selfishness, and for the flare of jealousy he felt.

An uncertain smile flickered then as Blair nodded slowly. “Yeah, I guess,” he affirmed, still seeming disconcerted as he stared into the mug. “A good thing.”

* * *

Pulling up in front of the modest, low-level apartment building not far from the university grounds, and shifting into park before switching off the ignition, Blair thought again about how frankly astonished he’d been that Maddie had called and had still wanted to get together despite … everything. And, though it shook him to consciously realize his confidence had sunk so low into the basement, he couldn’t help but wonder why. Licking his lips as he gazed out at the building, he thought about Jim, about how his partner had scarcely looked up from the TV program he’d been watching to mutter, “Have a good time.”

Damn. He really didn’t know what he was doing here. It wasn’t like he wanted to … but ….

Sighing, he ran his fingers through his hair and got out of the car. No, he didn’t want a relationship with anyone but Jim. But he was stupid to cling to hopeless fantasies and it was ridiculous to pass up a pleasant evening in the company of a pretty woman who wanted to spend time with him even if he was, what? Infamous? One of the local community’s ‘untouchables’? Blowing a long breath to settle his uncertainties, he climbed the stoop, opened the door and pressed the buzzer by the number for her apartment. It was just a drink. A bit of small talk. About what? What it was like to be a liar and a fraud and the most notorious guy in Cascade that day? Shaking his head, thinking the evening would probably turn out to be a huge mistake, when the door clicked, he nevertheless moved inside and up the stairwell to the second floor.

But from the moment that she answered the door, and he saw the seductive smile and the clinging silk lounging gown, he knew that he hadn’t been invited for small talk. If he’d had any doubts about that, the soft glow of the scented candles and the sensuous music pretty clearly indicated that seduction was the plan for the evening. Swallowing to moisten his suddenly dry throat, he accepted the glass of wine she offered him, and followed her into the tiny living room. Looking around, he found he liked the place. Not fancy, but tasteful, and very definitely cozy.

“This is nice,” he said, lifting his glass in a toast. “Thank you.”

“Well,” she demurred coyly, looking at him through her lashes, “I thought you might have had a hard day, and might like a bit of quiet and … tender loving care.”

Startled into a snicker by the exceedingly blatant invitation that definitely constituted overkill, he gazed at her for a long moment, drinking in the glow of admiration that shone in her eyes, but not understanding it. “Why?” he asked, unable to stop himself and then, embarrassed, he babbled, “I mean, yes, I … I really appreciate being invited over, and … and everything. But, um, I guess, I guess I can’t figure out why you’re interested. Does that sound hopelessly pathetic, or what? But, it’s just that, what with the headlines, and the circumstances when I left Rainier, I –”

She leaned forward, revealing a very attractive cleavage, and pressed her fingertips against his lips, silencing him. “Shhh,” she murmured. “I wanted to be with you then because you’re bright and funny and gorgeous. I want you now for the same reasons. Is that so hard to understand?”

 _Was it? Yes,_ he thought, _it was_. But her candour disarmed him, and her evident desire for him was irresistibly intoxicating, like a shot of rich brandy to a man nearly frozen inside. Too moved to speak, he caught her hand and gently kissed her palm. And then he drew her into his arms. She was pliant and willing, so willing. And though he still didn’t understand, he felt overcome with gratitude for her warmth and responsiveness. It had been _so_ long since he’d been touched, so very long since anyone had wanted this with him; so, so long. Her simple acceptance and evident desire for him called forth a profound need to somehow reward her for her generosity, to demonstrate how incredibly grateful he was to be wanted just for himself, regardless of all the wretchedness that surrounded him. He ached inside to love and be loved, to touch and be touched, to be wanted, _needed_.

When she took his hand and led him to the bedroom, he followed willingly. In the shadows of the darkened room, he made slow tender love to her, bringing her to the crest again and again, applying all of his considerable knowledge and experience about how to give pleasure. When, finally, she was writhing with passion, urging him on, he entered her and she arced her body to meet his thrust, locking her legs around him to hold him close, to draw him further inside. “More,” she panted with passionate demand. “I want this. I want you.”

Her hunger for him was fierce, and he responded with all he could give. Holding back his own release, he brought her to the pinnacle again and again, until he could wait no longer. He closed his eyes when she cried out and tightened around him, and he thrust twice more, taking her once more over the abyss before he let himself go. And then he gentled her, his touch delicate, his kiss almost reverent, before he cradled her in his arms.

“My God,” she rasped, spent. “That was fantastic!”

He smiled and closed his eyes, glad he had pleased her. For all her brash behaviour, he’d concluded early on that she didn’t seem to be all that experienced, for she’d done nothing to return the pleasure, had simply accepted his attentions, seeming to revel in them. But rather than feel unsatisfied, he was touched that she’d entrusted her vulnerability with him; it had been so _long_ since he’d been able to assume others would trust him in any way, let alone with such intimacy.

Still, as he drifted off to sleep, in his own vulnerability he vaguely wished that, even if only just once, she’d called his name.

He was awakened to the pearly pink light of dawn when she drew him to her, wordlessly asking for more of what he could give her. Afterward, they dozed for a while, but then rose to shower together. Noticing the time, he dressed hurriedly, making apologies for having to get to work, and didn’t notice that she made no move to offer him coffee or something to eat. She just laughed and said she understood – but that she hoped he’d return that evening for dinner. She dropped her gaze, and then suggested that maybe he could help her decide what courses to take the next year. He wasn’t altogether sure that he wanted to return, or that it was a good idea. But he felt it would be churlish to decline when she was so … so affirming and, well, he was glad to help her with her choices of graduate level courses, so he found himself nodding as he let himself out of the apartment.

Skipping down the steps, feeling pretty damned good, he discounted the niggling awareness that, not once, from the moment they’d run into one another at the grocery store, had she ever used his name.

* * *

Stiff and achy from having lain awake all night, listening for footsteps that had never come, Jim pushed himself out of bed and down to the shower, hoping it would revive him. Blair hadn’t come home. Not that he’d never stayed out all night in the past, but not for years now. And not often on a first date. As the spray pelted him, Jim was disgusted to realize that, while it would kill him if Blair was ever seriously hurt again, he almost hoped that there’d been an accident. A small, not serious accident, but still an accident that had resulted in Blair being in a hospital overnight and not in some stranger’s arms. Swallowing the bile that rose to burn the back of his throat at such wretched, inexcusable thoughts, he punished himself by slamming on an icy spray, and then climbed out to violently dry himself off.

Once he was dressed, he stomped out of the apartment and slammed the door behind him.

Blair jogged into Major Crimes about five minutes after he arrived. Schooling his expression to modest interest, at best, he observed a trifle archly, “Hot date, huh?”

Avoiding his gaze, Blair shrugged and nodded as he settled behind his desk and powered up his computer.

“What? That’s it? No details?” he couldn’t resist probing, like poking a tongue at a sore tooth.

Slanting him a sideways glance, the ghost of a grin playing around his lips, Blair replied languidly, “Hey, a gentleman never talks, you know that. Besides,” he added with a quirked brow, “I learned my lesson years ago, man. Not even my journal gets to know the good stuff anymore.”

Jim snorted, turned away, and bided his time, not wanting to seem too anxious – or anxious at all, for that matter. But his suspicion that this mystery woman didn’t want to be seen in public with Sandburg still rankled. And he really wanted to know if this had been a one-night stand, or what. So, an hour or so after lunch, he nonchalantly asked his partner if he’d like to go out for dinner that night, to subtly convey that _he_ was quite comfortable being seen in public with Blair. Fuck the media types who were probably still keeping a lookout for them both.

“Uh, well, I’d’ve enjoyed that,” Blair replied, looking up from the file he was working on. “But Maddie already invited me back for dinner.”

“Oh. Fine. Have a good time,” he responded with flat disappointment, but couldn’t resist asking as he turned away, “You taking her to that Italian place you like so much?”

“No, actually, we’re eating at her place,” Sandburg said, his brow puckering in a slight frown of surprise at Jim’s interest. “She wants my advice about her post-grad course choices.”

Nodding, pretending his interest had already waned, Jim buried his nose in a file. His teeth worrying his inner lip, he found himself wondering if this woman was using his partner, and how much it would hurt Blair to talk about school and courses when that world was now dead to him. But then he sighed and scrubbed his face, chiding himself for coming up with nefarious reasons to explain her interest in Sandburg. As if just being with him, enjoying his presence wasn’t reason enough for anyone to seek out his company. He had no right to be jealous; it was wrong to want to keep Blair all to himself when he’d been too much a coward for too many years over too damned many things, let alone the truth of his own feelings.

When Blair left that evening, Jim muttered that he was going to work a little longer. No way did he want to go home and just watch the kid shower and change his clothes to freshen himself up for someone else. But he forced himself to offer muted wishes for a fun evening, though he couldn’t risk looking up from his computer as he said the words. No way in hell could he take the chance that the pain he felt, the regret and grief that his partner wasn’t spending the evening with him, would show all too clearly in his eyes.

* * *

On his way to Maddie’s place, Blair stopped to pick up a good bottle of wine to go along with dinner, and a lush bouquet of flowers for the table, taking care to choose shades that would blend with the colours of her décor. But when he arrived, he found her surrounded by various documents and course outlines with no sign of dinner in sight.

“I didn’t feel like cooking,” she told him, as she drew the wine and flowers from his hands, and lifted her face for his kiss. “We can just order something.”

“Works for me,” he agreed good-naturedly. She handed him the corkscrew and then ordered dinner from a nearby Thai restaurant. Pleased with the choice, he didn’t mind her not consulting with him first. He poured the wine and they moved into the living room to begin discussing her plans for the next term’s courses. When dinner arrived, he automatically rose to pay for it, and they dished up in the kitchen. During dinner, she continued telling him about what she was most interested in focusing upon in her post grad studies. Retiring back to the living room after they finished eating and he’d helped with the dishes, he began suggesting various courses and professors that she might enjoy.

When she pulled out a notebook and started taking notes, though, he blinked. “Uh, sorry, I didn’t mean to start lecturing,” he apologized.

“Oh, hey, not at all,” she replied with a grin. “I could listen to you for hours. There’s not a prof there that’s as interesting or makes it all make sense like you do.”

Flattered, he smiled, and returned to the comments he’d been making about the advanced course on rituals and taboos that he thought she’d really enjoy.

Later, she once again took him into her bed, and he took pleasure in making the night as blissful for her as he could. And he was deeply pleased when he again brought her to an inarticulate exclamation of sheer, passionate joy.

The next morning, Friday, she suggested he plan on staying the weekend, because there was so much else she really wanted to ask him. He hesitated for a moment, thinking about missing all that time with Jim but, when shadows darkened her eyes, he agreed. After all, it wasn’t like he hadn’t been enjoying himself – or that it hadn’t been really nice to delve back into anthropology and have his knowledge appreciated.

As he drove to the PD, he thought about the tension he felt about … about spending so much time away from Jim. About not simply relaxing and enjoying Maddie’s company. God, she sure made it easy to enjoy the time he spent with her. His thoughts drifted back to the conversation he’d had with himself after the aborted trial.

Maybe … maybe it really was time to choose to be happy. Without worry or complication, without second guessing every damned thing and wishing his life had gone a different way. The plain, simple fact was that Jim was never going to want what Maddie wanted with him. So, did that mean he had to live a life of wholly unrequited love? Pretty miserable proposition, actually, though he’d been willing to settle for what he had. But if all he and Jim were ever going to have was their work partnership and an increasingly casual, unengaged friendship, well, maybe he could have that but also … also be with someone who really seemed to want his company and enjoyed having him around.

What would be the harm in giving it a try? A few nights, even a weekend didn’t mean forever, anyway. They were both having a good time, so where was the harm?

So, yeah. Maybe he’d choose being happy.

Would make a nice change.

* * *

Jim showed about as much interest as a stone when Blair told him he’d be spending the weekend with Maddie, so he concluded that his partner was probably glad to have some time on his own. God knew, they’d been living in each other’s pockets for months, with little apparent enjoyment.

Maddie, on the other hand, was endearingly enthusiastic when he arrived with a carry-all and a couple more bottles of wine. When he suggested they might go for a walk along the harbour, she demurred and said she had a better idea for an aerobic workout – and drew him directly to her bed. And, though she still didn’t seem to grasp that love-making was a two-way street, he found deep pleasure in pleasing her so evidently well.

When they weren’t in bed over the next two days and nights, she sat with rapt attention, taking copious notes as he talked about one subject or another that was relevant to what she’d decided she’d be studying the next year. When he began to run dry, she prompted him with another question. And though the reminder that he could no longer do this, share his knowledge and enthusiasm for anthropology with a whole class full of students, was bittersweet, it soothed a deep hurt to be able to once again talk freely on the subject that he’d passionately pursued for so long.

Given that she was a student and he got a regular paycheck, it only seemed right to him that he paid for the food they ordered in and, because he liked to cook, he didn’t think twice about the fact that it appeared she didn’t.

Her focus on him was so complete that he scarcely noticed that she never spoke his name.

The intensity of the past few days, the satisfaction he felt in her company, the pleasure he found in her body, even the isolation, the sense that there were only the two of them in the world, soon led him to imagine that he could get well-used to this being happy thing.

When she seemed to simply assume they’d spend the whole of the next week together when he wasn’t at work, he began to think that maybe, just maybe, he’d finally found someone who wanted more from him than anyone had wanted before.

He was well and truly infatuated, and he knew it. Oh, it wasn’t the same as what he felt for Jim, but then he didn’t think anything else ever would be, or that anyone else could ever touch his soul as deeply. But what he had with Maddie was good, very good. Hell, it was great.

By the time the next week had passed, he was certain that she was in love with him and he figured only a fool would give up ‘wonderful’ for what was never going to be. Because it sure didn’t seem to matter a damn to Jim that he was never around.

 _Fuck it_ , he decided abruptly, as he stuffed gear into his bag for the next weekend. If he wasn’t perfectly happy, he was a hell of a lot happier since they’d started spending time together than he’d been for a long time. He let himself out of the empty loft; Jim had decided to work late again that night. Distantly, he wondered what his partner was finding to do because, so far as he knew, their case work was up to date. But then, Jim had always taken longer over his reports, when he bothered to write them, and maybe he had his own plans for the evening, plans that were easier to pursue from work rather than coming all the way home only to go out again. Jim was fine. Irascible, more taciturn than ever, but fine. His senses were working great and ….

Blair shut down his thoughts about Jim, recognizing them for what they were. He was obsessing over what he wished could be instead of focusing on what he had. And what he had was damned good.

Happiness, after all, was a state of mind.

And he’d decided to be happy.

* * *

Jim was miserable. And the worst part about it was that he knew his misery was his own damned fault. Maybe if he was better company, Sandburg wouldn’t be haring off to spend all his free time with someone else.

 _All_ his free time.

And he seemed to be having a fine time, too, if his more ready grins and brighter, if not quite sparkling eyes were anything to go by.

Damn it all to hell.

Blair was falling in love with that Maddie and he might as well already be living with her. God knew, the only time he spent at the loft was to pick up more clothes, or books, to take over to her place. And Jim still hadn’t even met her. Didn’t know what she looked like. Which, when he thought about it, seemed just a bit strange. It wasn’t like he hadn’t suggested that Blair could occasionally bring her over to the loft, instead of Sandburg always going to her place. But Blair had just chuckled and shook his head. “House rules, man, remember?” he chided. “You made it real clear from the outset that I wasn’t to, uh, entertain at the loft.”

Jim swallowed hard as he remembered that highly unsatisfactory exchange that only served to remind him that they were probably boinking like bunnies. Now that was an image he really didn’t want to dwell upon. Scrubbing his face, he figured he should probably accept it, though. Blair was slipping away. Hell, the kid was running full tilt in another direction, and it could only be a matter of time before he moved out for good. Oh, maybe not, even probably not, with this Maddie. That fire was burning too hot to last and it was downright weird how they never seemed to go out anywhere, or so Blair seemed to indicate. For a moment, his brow furrowed with thoughts of the Stockholm Syndrome, but he pushed the notion away. If he’d ever seen an unlikelier hostage than Sandburg, he didn’t know when. But whether it was Maddie or someone else, the fact remained that something fundamental had changed since the trial. He wished … he wished that he was man enough to be glad about the fact that Blair seemed … seemed a whole lot happier since that trouncing. Vaguely, he wondered if it was because the worst had happened. The kid had been humiliated in court and had it solidly reinforced that his word meant nothing, no matter how hard he worked, or how good a job he did. Even after a full year had passed, the stain of that press conference still bled freely, like a damned stigmata.

But he _wasn’t_ glad that his partner seemed happier for the fact that they spent no personal time together anymore and, instead, was cherishing and being cherished by another. Another who could never, _never_ , know how truly special Blair was, how he’d risk everything, give all he was, without any thought about his own self-preservation when the chips were down. No, he just put himself on the line to safeguard those he cared about, did what he felt he had to do. And Jim was sick with self-disgust that he could watch Blair suffer the consequences of the secret they shared and remain ever silent. He felt as if his guts were being ripped out and he wanted to scream with the pain of it but, of course, he couldn’t. No matter what pain he felt, real or emotional, he’d learned a long time ago to hide it, bury it under a stoic façade of indifference. He’d never learned how to reveal his vulnerabilities. Didn’t have the words. And now, hollow with helpless sorrow and bitter regret, he called himself ten times a fool, as he had every day for more than a week. He wasn’t a stupid man. He knew how to talk. Why the hell couldn’t he talk about what mattered more than the air he breathed? Yeah, right. Come out of his closet about his abilities a year after the fact, and make a mockery of all Blair had suffered for him. Or reveal his love, after all this time when he could have said something but hadn’t, now, when Blair had found someone who evidently didn’t stint on her appreciation for him. Yeah, yeah, screw around with his head and his heart and ask him to give up something else that made him … made him happy.

Sighing, Jim pulled open the middle drawer of his desk, and brought out the file he worked on in all the spare hours he now had. Reviewing what he’d learned, he shook his head. The facts were building but they were all so damned circumstantial. But … when added to Blair’s testimony, would they be enough?

“You still here?” Simon rumbled as he detoured to Jim’s desk on his way out for the night.

Looking up, Jim nodded tightly. “Yeah, just got a few loose ends ….”

“Uh huh,” Banks grunted. “So, you got enough to nail Burns yet?”

Startled, Jim gaped and then hastily muttered, “What?” as he tried to draw on a cloak of sublime innocence.

Rolling his eyes with a snort that clearly called his bluff, Simon shook his head. A smile twitched at the corner of his mouth as he challenged, “What? You think I don’t know you’ve been willfully disregarding my direct order to cease and desist on that case? That I wouldn’t know that you’ll chew on Burns like a dog with a bone until you’ve got enough to bury him? And, incidentally, make his lawyer eat sand?” Settling on the corner of the desk, he gestured impatiently, “So, give. What’ve you got so far?”

With the grace to look abashed, Jim scratched the back of his head, and then handed over the file. While Simon flipped through it, he summarized, “He’d over-extended his business, and the bank was about to call the game. And he’s got a lover – the head of his finance division. His personal finances were a disaster, because he likes the ponies, but he’s discreet, only bets through bookies, never goes to the track. He and his late wife attended high society social functions together, but were civil and no more to one another for the last year or so. And … she’d made an appointment with her lawyer to change her will a week before she was killed. Needless to say, she never made it to the lawyer.”

“How’d you get all this?” Simon asked, lifting his eyes from the file, his gaze penetrating.

“Mostly from financial records,” Jim replied, though his gaze slid away. “Some surveillance, some chit-chat with a few, uh, contacts.”

“Blair’s cousin, Robert?” Simon probed.

“Among others, yeah,” Jim admitted.

Heaving a sigh, Banks frowned in thought. “You know, I think you just might have enough here. What does your partner think?”

Once again Jim’s gaze dropped as his expression flattened. “Sandburg doesn’t know about any of this.”

“What? But … when you were on surveillance? You’re not telling me you went out alone? What if you’d –”

“I was fine,” Jim cut in. “Besides, _I_ needed to observe stuff that _I_ can testify about this time. To back his testimony with all this stuff,” he added, waving his hand at the file.

Nodding slowly, Simon looked around. “And Sandburg hasn’t asked what you’ve been up to? He’s just, what? Watched TV while you’re working here or were out tracking the suspect?” he asked, his tone clearly revealing he didn’t believe Blair wouldn’t have been grilling his partner days before.

Swallowing, his gaze hooded, Jim re-appropriated the file and locked it in his desk. “Blair’s been busy lately.”

“Doing what?” he demanded, his gaze flickering as he thought back over the week, and Sandburg’s more cheerful disposition. He’d wondered about it, but had just assumed the two of them were clandestinely working the Burns case and that Blair had been gratified with the results they were getting. But, come to think of it, despite the pretty good circumstantial case Jim was building, _he_ hadn’t seemed at all happy – not that he ever did these days.

“His personal life is his own business, right?” Jim blocked, looking away.

Alarm bells started clanging in Simon’s head. Standing, his own gaze flattened. “What’s going on?” he demanded.

Shrugging, not looking at him, Jim went on tidying his desk as if getting ready to go home. But when Simon simply continued to loom over him, he sighed and his hands stilled on the blotter. “He’s met someone. Been spending all his time with her since the middle of last week,” he finally admitted.

“Met who, exactly? Where?”

“A woman who used to be one of his students,” Jim replied dully. “Guess she wanted to go out with him before, but ethically, he couldn’t. Now he can.”

Crossing his arms, his lips thin, Simon studied him for a long moment. But then he brushed a hand over his mouth, as if to wipe away words before they could be spoken. “Okay,” he finally muttered. “You’re right. His personal life is none of my business.” He hesitated but then added, “But … as a friend, well, you know I worry about both of you, right?”

Jim dipped his head and reluctantly nodded. “Things’ll work out,” he said but his tone lacked conviction.

“I hope so, Jim,” Simon replied. “I really hope so.” He looked around the empty office and then offered, “You want to get a drink someplace?”

With a faint, wry smile, appreciating the offer, but wanting to be alone, Jim shook his head. “No, but thanks.”

“Okay, but the offer is open if you, well, if you ….” His voice trailed away and he sighed. “Like you ever want to talk,” he muttered irritably. Turning away, he offered a half-hearted, “Don’t work all night.”

“I won’t,” Jim assured him. Hell, what was one more lie between friends? But it wasn’t like he had any reason to go home.

Only … there wasn’t much more he could do on the Burns case. He’d write up the report over the weekend, and he and Simon would see what the DA thought sometime early in the week. At loose ends, he tapped his fingertips on the desk. And his mind kept going back to Maddie. Wondering what she was really like, what she looked like … if she deserved Blair.

Turning back to his computer, he was about to do a start a search when he realized he didn’t even know her last name, let alone where she lived. He could always reach Blair with his cell number, but there was no good reason to call. Frustrated, he shut down the machine and stood away from the desk. Much as he loathed the silence of the loft these days, and nights, he decided he’d better go home and get used to it.

* * *

On Monday night, feeling uncomfortably like a stalker, he followed Blair to her place, and listened from the truck to figure out where his partner was going in the building, waited until he heard her voice and made a conscious memory record so he’d recognize it again. Then he went into the building, figured out the number that went with Blair’s location on the second floor, and took note of her last name and address. He was curious, that was all. And, well, he rationalized, Sandburg’s track record with the ladies indicated that more of them were trouble than not, so it was best to be prepared, right? If he’d been on top of Iris years ago, it would have saved everyone a lot of grief. This young woman was probably as pure as the driven snow, well, in terms of having any wants or warrants, but it couldn’t hurt to check her out.

Turned out, she didn’t even have an outstanding parking ticket. Telling himself he was losing it, Jim resisted the urge to make up some excuse to get away on his own while Blair was at work, to tail the woman. He really had to get a grip on his paranoia; more, on his wishful thinking that there was something wrong with her. Because where would that lead, anyway? Did he really want to break Blair’s heart for him by digging up some reason to trash the budding relationship? No. No, coward that he was, he didn’t. If there was something odd about her reluctance to ever be seen in public with his partner, he sure in hell didn’t want to be the one to give the kid the bad news. At least he knew from his checks that she wasn’t secretly married to someone else, or some damned thing.

It wasn’t until Friday that he and Simon were able to get a meeting with the DA, to go over the information on Burns that Jim had uncovered. They didn’t get a warrant, but at least they got leave to begin asking overt questions again – provided Sandburg wasn’t involved. The DA didn’t want to risk being covered with any more of the mud that clung to the new detective.

“That’s not fair,” Jim protested. “You _know_ the real facts!”

“Yes, I do,” Beverley Sanchez agreed. “But dragging it all up doesn’t do him any good, either. You know as well as I do that if he is anywhere near this case at this point that Burns will be yelling harassment. Be grateful that I’m allowing you to proceed, and not assigning it to another team altogether.”

“Joel can work this one with you,” Simon intervened before Jim could argue any further, though he wasn’t at all impressed with her view that she had the right to assign his people to anything. But it wasn’t worth fighting about. They’d gotten pretty much what they wanted. Standing, he thanked her and motioned Jim out of the office ahead of him. On the way back to the PD, he asked, “So, you want to tell him, or shall I?”

“I’ll tell him,” Jim grated.

* * *

“You what?” Blair exclaimed, his eyes wide with disbelief as he surged up from behind his desk and stalked around it to confront Jim. “You were investigating Burns all this time and you didn’t tell me? Why not?”

“Look, it was no big deal, okay?” Jim replied, wishing he could dredge up the energy to sound defensive or aggrieved, but he just felt bone-tired. “We’d been ordered to let it go and if … well, if it blew up, I figured you didn’t need any more grief. Besides, I was doing it after hours, and you’ve been busy.”

Sandburg’s eyes narrowed as he stared up at his friend. “I get that you did this for me, okay? And I’m … well, I’m grateful. Very grateful,” he finally allowed, making no comment about the fact that he’d been busy elsewhere, or he’d’ve known Jim was up to something. That wasn’t the point, and they both knew it. “But dammit, Jim. We’re supposed to be partners, here. You should have told me.”

Looking away, Jim nodded, not interested in fighting about it. “Beverley doesn’t want you involved in any of the follow-up questioning,” he said then, his tone flat. In the silence that followed, he glanced at his partner and felt a shaft of pain at the sag of Sandburg’s shoulders and the resignation on his face.

“Makes sense,” Blair murmured dispiritedly. “It would only complicate things if I was involved.”

“I’m sorry, Chief,” Jim said, his voice low and strained. “You deserve better than this.”

Smiling sadly, evidently appreciating the sentiment, Blair shrugged. “It’s okay,” he replied. “The main thing is that we get the guy.” When Jim nodded and turned away, Blair reached out to briefly clasp his arm. “I meant it. Thanks, Jim. For not letting it go.”

Ellison nodded bleakly, still resentful on Blair’s behalf. Before he turned away, to head out with Joel to question the alleged girlfriend, he sought for something positive to say. “Well, hopefully, this won’t take long to wrap up,’ he said with a forced grin. “I’d like us to be able to celebrate having that jerk back behind bars at the shindig next weekend. You’ll be there, right? Bring Maddie along. Give her a chance to meet the guys you work with.”

Blair hesitated. “Well, I’m not sure she’ll be interested …” he hedged.

“What, not interested in hearing all our stories about you?” Jim teased, working hard to appear light-hearted. “Besides, she’s an anthropologist, right? How could she resist? And it won’t be all cops. Dad and Steven will be there.”

Grinning, Sandburg replied, “To see you win Cop of the Year again, I’ll bet. That’s great, Jim. And, yeah, you’re right. It’s time Maddie met some of the other really important people in my life.”

Pleased to have won a smile from his friend, Jim gave him a half wave and moved off to join Joel, who was waiting by his own desk. He tried not to think about how he’d been relegated to one of ‘the other really important people’ in his partner’s life. Sure sounded as if this Maddie was ‘really important’; and made it pretty damned clear that he no longer held a unique or special place in Blair’s affections.

* * *

The interview with Janine Sommersby went easier than they’d feared it might. The tall, lithe, elegantly garbed and coiffed company Comptroller met them with barely civil courtesy when they were shown into her palatial office. Jim couldn’t help comparing her to the deceased Mrs. Burns, who had been short, growing plump and gray. Janine, several years younger than Burns, would be the trophy wife. Maybe. If it went that far. Studying her, he thought she looked pale and unnerved, with a slight shake to her hands.

They didn’t waste any time once they were seated on the plush chairs in her office, facing her across the broad, elegant desk of polished wood. Jim began brusquely, “Ms. Sommersby, we’ve recently become aware that your relationship with Mr. Burns may be something more than professional.”

She stiffed and looked away. “Hardly,” she replied coldly. “Not that that’s any of your business.”

Sighing, playing the avuncular friendly cop, Joel shook his head. “There’s no point in denying it, Miss. You’ve been followed, observed going dancing with him, having cozy drinks in dark lounges. We know he’s taken you home and spent the night … on several occasions, just in the past week alone. You’ve been discreet, but ….”

“He’s just lost his wife,” she protested, blushing hotly. “And we’re friends. No one needs to be alone in their grief, especially after being wrongly charged!”

“Seems like he hasn’t wasted any time in mourning,” Jim observed caustically. “Come on. You look like a smart and savvy woman, who could do a lot better than him. You really want to hook up with a guy who just killed his first wife? What if his eyes start to wander again? And he finds lucky lady number three?”

“You don’t have proof against him,” she snapped, the flush fading, leaving her subsequent pallor more pronounced. And she was nervously, evidently unconsciously, twisting an elegant emerald ring on her finger.

“Despite what the papers say,” Joel told her sad conviction, “we do know, beyond a shadow of doubt, that he paid to have his wife assassinated, to leave him free for a life with you – free with all his wealth intact.” He paused, then added compellingly, “And Jim’s right. Once a man kills, he finds it easier to kill again.”

She stared at Joel for a long moment; even her twisting fingers stilled. Then she swallowed convulsively as she looked away. “He … he promised we’d be able to be together soon. A few weeks before … before she d-died.” Trembling, she lifted a hand to cover her mouth, and bent forward, her other arm wrapped around her body. “I never thought … I … divorce. I thought he meant divorce.”

The two detectives glanced at one another. And then Joel offered quietly, “Would you be willing to come down and give us a formal statement?”

She blinked quickly and sniffed, and slowly nodded her head.

* * *

Simon and Joel decided to take her statement, to ensure the case wasn’t tainted by Jim’s presence as Blair’s partner. Ellison put all his files and notes on the circumstantial evidence and his surveillances together, and finished up that report. He knew that once the Sommersby statement was taken, Simon would be ready to have another discussion with the DA. They now had motive, plenty of motive.

Looking at the clock on his way to the interview room, Simon asked, “Where’s your shadow?”

“Oh, he’s probably left for the day,” Jim replied, his voice hollow, without inflection, as if he was either very tired or somehow … so bereft that he was beyond feeling much of anything.

Simon’s brow furrowed at the tone and the dull hopelessness that shadowed Jim’s eyes, and he felt a sudden rush of deep concern for his friend. His gaze flickered briefly in the short silence between them, and he tried to find something personal, something positive to say – but realized that there was more wrong in more ways than he could alleviate, let alone heal, with a few concerned words. “Well, you may as well take off, too,” Banks told him, his tone low and steady, resorting to the thin comfort of simple direction, structure and facts with the hope of giving Jim something to focus on. “By the time I’m done with the DA, and we get a warrant, it’ll be late. And I want to exercise this one personally, with Joel.”

Jim nodded his understanding, handed his file on Burns to Simon, and stood to reach for his jacket. “Give me a call at home later. Let me know how it goes.”

“Will do,” the Captain confirmed with a firm nod. But his frown deepened as he watched Jim walk out of the office, his gait stiff and slow, as if his body ached. Simon’s lips tightened as his gaze dropped to the floor and he swiftly reviewed the last weeks, months. They’d done what they’d thought was only right and just, let alone necessary, in offering Blair the badge. They’d all assumed there was no other real option, not and be able to keep Sandburg on the team and ensure Jim had the special support Blair offered. But … the last months hadn’t been good. The strain between his two friends had become palpable, and Simon had to admit that he’d unconsciously retreated with the hope that things would work out. However, far from working out, getting better, if anything, things were getting worse. Oh, the two of them still worked together effectively; they did their jobs and their success rate was as solid as ever. But there was no joy in them anymore, no laughter or teasing, just a flat congeniality that often seemed forced. Jim was retreating into deep, morose silence and, from what he’d picked up from Blair’s behaviour and the odd comment here and there, the two of them spent absolutely no personal time together anymore. There was some new woman in Sandburg’s life that seemed to have captured his full attention. But even Blair’s recent veneer of cheerfulness seemed just that – a veneer, a carefully constructed mask of smiles and chitchat that didn’t reach his eyes. Now that Simon thought about it, in unguarded moments Blair’s eyes were filled with the same hopeless shadows that clouded Jim’s gaze. Sighing, sorrow weighing heavily on his heart, he rubbed his mouth and wondered if there was anything he could do to help make things right again. If there was any way to make any of it right. His throat tightened and he felt a shaft of deep foreboding that made no sense, but he felt as if the two men were dying, slowly and painfully. But that was stupid; they were both healthy. Still, he couldn’t shake the premonition of impending disaster and felt an urgent need to find some solution, some means to heal whatever was so badly wrong.

Lifting his gaze, he found Joel looking at him with sad, grim understanding. Mutely, Taggart’s gaze flicked toward the empty doorway where Jim had just exited, and then back again. Unconsciously, both men nodded in their mutual awareness that something was deeply wrong; then, they both straightened, their expressions mirroring their shared resolution to stop standing on the sidelines, mere witnesses to the pain and grief that was destroying two men they both cared deeply about.

“Let’s get this done,” Joel said tightly, nodding his head toward the interview room. “And then we need to talk.”

A wry smile twitched at the corner of Simon’s mouth. “I hope you’ve got some ideas, because I don’t know how we even begin to dig ourselves, or them, out of this pit.”

Quirking a brow, Joel shrugged. “At least we finally acknowledge there is a pit to dig out of,” he replied sardonically. “That’s a start, and a lot farther ahead of where we were ten minutes ago.”

Chuckling humorlessly, Simon nodded, and led the way to the interview room to begin pounding nails into the coffin that would bury Burns.

* * *

On his way home, Jim decided to stop in at the grocery store to stock up on some supplies. Desultorily, not all that excited about buying for one, he moved slowly around the market. He was just turning past the end of one aisle, to head up another, when his attention was caught by two women in the nearby checkout line.

One, a tall, stunningly beautiful, young, African-American woman, called out to another, “Maddie! Girl, where you been hiding? You’ve been out of circulation for more than two weeks!”

The other woman, of average height and pretty, turned at the call, and grinned. Looking around, she beckoned the taller woman closer. Lowering her voice, she giggled, “You won’t believe what I’ve been up to!”

“Uh huh, I knew there was story!” the other crowed in a conspiratorial tone. “Okay, I want all the dirt.”

The shorter, slimmer, woman, Maddie, snorted. “It’s dirt, all right,” she agreed with a salacious grin. “You know what every woman on campus used to say about our ex-professor Sandburg, right?”

Jim had already put the name and the voice together but, true to his decision to remain uninvolved, he’d been about to move on. However, at the reference to his partner, his ears perked up, and he froze, pretending to be mesmerized by all the cans of soup on the shelf in front of him.

“Oh, do I remember,” the taller woman rejoined, and gave a low whistle. “ _And_ I remember you were pretty hot to get him into your bed last year, to see if all those delicious rumours were true.”

“Yeah, well, he was too much of a goody-two shoes to date a student – but I’m not his student now!” Maddie revealed, her tone both so disparaging of Blair and unrepentantly smug that Jim felt rage flare and his jaw clenched tightly. “And, yeah, everything they said was true and then some,” she continued blithely. “This stud is _hot_. He’d make a fortune as a gigolo!” She giggled and then went on, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur as she glanced around the store to ensure no one they knew was within listening distance. “And, get this, I can get him talking anthro at the drop of the hat! I’ve had _weeks_ of private tutorials … I’ve gotten more than enough information from him to breeze through the Masters courses. He’s practically written my papers and doesn’t even know it. He’s laid out themes to argue, key research materials to check out, and the essential substance of all the lectures I’ll be taking. Best few weeks I’ve invested in a long time.” She gave a low, throaty chuckle but added with a dissatisfied twist of her lips, “Too bad he may have spoiled me for any other man.”

“So, why haven’t you been strutting around with him?” the girlfriend asked curiously, seeming vastly amused.

“What? Be seen in public with him? You’ve got to be kidding!” Maddie retorted flatly, quite obviously appalled by the idea. Jim’s chest tightened and his gaze narrowed dangerously as he tilted his head slightly to catch the nearly whispered hiss. “I like a thrilling lover as much as the next girl, and the private tutoring is a goldmine, but the man’s a liar and a fraud. I wouldn’t be seen dead with him! And worse, he’s a cop – he’s going nowhere fast and who needs to be hooked up with a guy like that? Give me a break.”

The tall woman shook her head and laughed with a complicit understanding of unbridled ambition that made Jim’s skin crawl. “Well, I’m glad to see you haven’t lost all your good sense.”

“Far from it; being seen with him would be career suicide, pure and simple,” Maddie agreed heartily, then frowned. “I was planning to break it up before next weekend, to tell you the truth; only been putting it off because I’ll definitely miss him in my bed. But he called this afternoon and urged me to go with him to some big formal function next Saturday. Wants me to meet his colleagues, if you can image.” She rolled her eyes. “But, he also mentioned that his partner’s father and brother will be there.”

“So?”

“William and Steven Ellison,” she revealed with an arched brow and predatory smile.

“My God, the two richest and hottest catches in town? You’ve got to be kidding me!” her friend exclaimed, and then continued knowingly, “Well, talk about an ideal way to, um, get to know them. You go, girl. I’ve seen a picture of that Steven Ellison in Fortune magazine. Very nice. And the old man isn’t half bad, either.”

“My thoughts, exactly,” Maddie chuckled, her eyes bright with excitement. “I’ll break up with Blair afterward. It’s been nice but … there’s just no way. And I’m way beyond tired of hiding out in the apartment!”

Jim turned to glare briefly at the woman, and came very close to telling her exactly what he thought of her. But he hesitated. Damn … if he did, she might just turn around and tell Blair that he’d made an ass of himself and made her so uncomfortable in front of what evidently was a good friend that she’d use him as the reason for the looming breakup.

White-knuckled, he roughly pushed his cart down the aisle as he fought his fierce emotions. God damn it, Sandburg deserved so much better than this shit. And he’d seemed so … happy with her. After so long, so very long, something seemed to be going right for him again. His rage floundered and he just felt so sick about how badly Blair was going to take it. Not even the thought that he’d have his partner back fulltime consoled him. Sure, that’s what he wanted, but not like this. Never at the cost of Blair being devastated. God, he hoped the woman used some discretion and sensitivity, and was as dishonest about the reasons for the termination of their relationship as she’d apparently been all along. Somehow, though, her gloating and self-righteous, almost sanctimonious manner didn’t leave him reassured.

His fist pounded the handle of the cart. Lies. Goddamned lies. Liar, fraud … not true. So not true.

Jim swallowed hard and rubbed a hand over his face. He wondered if he should tell Blair what he’d overheard … but he couldn’t. No way did he want to be the bearer of these bad tidings. He didn’t even want Blair to know what he knew. The kid would feel humiliated.

But, maybe there was another option to show Blair what a waste of time she was … maybe so much so, that Blair would break off the relationship first. Maybe ….

He needed to think about it. About what to say and not to say if … if he enrolled Steven in a plot to bring that bitch down.

Sighing, he shook his head. As much as he profoundly regretted that Blair was likely to be in a world of hurt in a matter of days, he also believed that his partner richly deserved a whole lot better than a bitch like her, so losing her wouldn’t be such a bad thing. In some ways, given how maliciously she was using his friend, the sooner she broke up with Blair, the better. Dealing with this Maddie was only a part of a much larger problem; she was more a symptom of all that was wrong rather than the main issue. The lies, the damned lies that had become a way of life, were strangling him and destroying Blair. He couldn’t stand it anymore; he felt filthy and sick with disgust with himself and his cowardice. It couldn’t go on. It had to end. He had to figure out a way to … to stop the charade and start telling the truth; or at least the truth about Blair, about Blair’s sacrifice for him. He drew a shuddering breath and scraped his palms over his face. There had to be a way, a way to make things right for Blair. A way that didn’t simply fling the incredible gift of self-immolation and silence Blair had given him back into his partner’s face.

Feeling a desperate urgency to find his way out of the morass their lives had become, he abandoned the forgotten shopping cart in the middle of the aisle. Striding swiftly out of the store and back to his truck, he fought his churning emotions. He needed to think, soberly and clearly. He couldn’t afford to make any more mistakes. Wheeling sharply out of the parking lot, he gunned the engine, anxious to get home, where he could concentrate without distraction and make some decisions about what to do.

When Simon called two hours later to tell him that a warrant had been issued for Burns’ arrest, Jim smiled grimly, deeply pleased that they were finally on the right road, the road that would reveal his partner’s integrity for what it truly was. And then he asked Simon if he had time that evening to discuss a few things over a late dinner. Unaware that his boss had been about to suggest the same thing, he was surprised and a bit disconcerted, if still very grateful, that Banks agreed with such alacrity and evident enthusiasm.

Hours later, when he returned to the loft, he felt both relief and trepidation that Simon had agreed with his tentative plan. Though it was late, he felt too keyed up to even think about retiring for the night. His throat was dry and anxious butterflies filled his chest. He felt so nervous and yet so excited to finally be doing something that felt right that his gut roiled and he was distantly glad that he’d only picked at his dinner. Taking a steadying breath, he pulled the telephone directory out of a drawer under the island, and wrote down the numbers he wanted to call first thing on Monday morning. He already knew the numbers of those he needed to talk to the next day. And then he pulled out a pad of paper and a pen and went to the table to begin making notes of everything he needed to say and do in the next few days.

Silence settled around him until only the scratching of the pen on the paper filled his ears. Fiercely, he focused only on what must be done and said, refusing to give way to his own fears. But as the night deepened, his defences weakened with weariness and his hand began to shake so badly that he had to stop writing. Clutching his hands together, he raised his clenched fists to his brow and bowed his head, his elbows braced on the table. Was he doing the right thing? Once he began, there would be no turning back, no way to control all that might ultimately transpire. He ached to talk it all over with his partner, and he lifted his head to stare balefully at the empty room under the stairs. Would Blair thank him … or be furious to have been kept in the dark when it was his life, his future, as much as Jim’s own, that were the stakes.

For a long terrible moment, Jim quailed at what he was about to set in motion, all his old fears rising up to thicken in his throat and tighten his chest so that he could scarcely draw breath. Was he going too far? Would Blair resent his interference? Was he planning to go far enough? Or was he still trying to protect himself too much, despite his fervent desire to end the lies? Did he have the right to do what he planned without telling his partner his intentions? What if … what if Blair got so angry about being excluded from such fundamental choices and actions that he … he left? A shudder rippled through his body, leaving him trembling and feeling sick and scared.

His gaze drifted around the apartment, seeking some anchor, something to help him regain his balance, his sense of purpose, and once again he found himself staring at his partner’s room. It had been weeks since Blair had slept there. Weeks when they’d only had contact at work and the tension between them fairly crackled, though they both strove to pretend nothing was wrong, nothing had changed. But things had changed, fundamentally and … and Blair was already in the process of leaving him. Oh, this thing with Maddie clearly wouldn’t last, but there’d be another. There was nothing to hold him there, nothing to make him want to stay. But he’d given up so much, too much.

Memories flooded his mind and filled him with tumultuous emotion. Incredulity and shame mingled with heartstopping gratitude and grief when he’d watched that brave, anguished press conference. Days later, hope jangled with breathless anxiety as he watched Blair’s face after tossing him the badge. And then, after Blair had taken the necessary courses, and had started on the job, Jim had been caught in useless, helpless anger, mute frustration twisting in his gut at the jibes and insults that tightened his partner’s shoulders and left him pale but resolute at work. Closing his eyes, he relived the terrible minutes of hearing Blair’s determined calm hiding the trip-hammer heartbeat, his partner’s voice tight and dry with strain during the cross-examination during the Burns’ trial. He’d had such a burning desire to slam his fist into that sanctimonious attorney’s face, an almost overwhelming urge to stand and growl out the truth, consequences be damned. Inexpressible sorrow flooded his chest as he recalled his partner’s clear assumption that Maddie wouldn’t call after she’d seen the headlines, and he felt again the torment of watching Blair put a brave face on it all, pretending it didn’t matter, not really – when it mattered so very much. His surprise when she did call, the small, secret smiles of satisfaction after his first night with her, and since, mingled with the hollow helplessness he felt knowing that he was losing Blair and didn’t know how to stop that from happening; didn’t know how to begin to confess how the loss would shatter something inside that could never again be repaired. His fury as he’d listened to that lying, manipulative bitch talk about his partner with such ruthless self-interest and utter lack of compassion or any trace of affection, rose again to choke him. Dear God, did Blair love her? After he’d finally found some happiness, what would her betrayal do to him?

Jim’s eyes burned and his throat thickened. Drawing a sobbing breath, he pressed his eyes closed and shook his head. A year had passed since that press conference, but it might as well have been yesterday. No matter how hard Blair worked, or how good a job he did, it wasn’t ever going to be enough to overcome his public avowal that he was a liar and a fraud. The blemish on his integrity really was going to linger like a brand burned on his brow, forever visible and endlessly agonizing. Unless and until the truth was finally told, he would pay for his loyalty and uncommon courage for the rest of his life. And for what? A partner, a friend, who stood back and allowed it to happen? Worse, who was buckling under the weight of guilt and grief so much that the friendship had eroded into something hollow and silent? Worst of all, was too much a coward to admit to his own abilities lest some ignorant twerp consider him a freak? Swallowing hard, Jim castigated himself mercilessly for remaining silent for so long, for allowing the man he loved more than life to suffer silently on his behalf. He had come to loathe himself in the past year; could scarcely face himself in the mirror, let alone allow himself to touch Blair or even look at him lest his remorse and anguish only add to the burden Blair bore for him.

He wanted so much, more than he could ever express, could only feel, to make things right, to restore Blair’s reputation, to tell the world how brave and decent, how incredibly honest and noble his partner truly was. And, God, he longed to confess his deepest, most hidden emotions to Blair himself. But the depth of his desire to do all that, the anguish and need he felt to cut through all the lies and put an end to the obscenity of it all, didn’t quell the atavistic fear of exposure that had held him mute. He laughed bitterly, the sound of his voice raw in the silence of the night. He was the one everyone thought was so brave, the ex-Ranger, cop of the year. Sure, he could spit in the face of Death, taunt the Fates as he stalked and took down vicious killers … but admit he was different? That those differences could leave him pathetically vulnerable without the backup and support of a guy who might be thirty but still looked like the kid he’d been when Jim had first met him? He could readily vow to protect Blair with his life – that fit with his image of stalwart, resolute courage, the image of the kind of man he wanted to be. But admit that his gut turned to jelly whenever he thought about those stark, terrifying moments at the fountain, when he couldn’t get Blair to breathe, when his partner’s body was cold with death? Or that he’d rather be dead himself than ever feel that terrifying emptiness again? Because he could not, simply could _not_ imagine facing such moments again, couldn’t bear to imagine holding Blair’s lifeless body in his arms, couldn’t … just couldn’t admit that he loved the guy so damned much it tore him up inside.

Jim’s lips thinned and he tightly crossed his arms as he struggled to master his innate aversion for what he would face in the next few days. He had to sacrifice his pride and his privacy, had to admit the lies, had to bring the truth to light. Had to. For Blair. Drawing shuddering breaths, he tried to imagine the arguments his partner would raise, if he were there. If he knew. Blair would insist that it wasn’t necessary – was, in fact, potentially very dangerous. He’d refuse to give permission, to be party to the disclosure. Blair’s commitment to him had never wavered regardless of the costs in both public and private humiliation, or the loss of a career he’d given half his life toward achieving. Because of the lies. Because he was too good a man to tell the truth. And because Blair indulged his fear, didn’t push him to face it … somehow knew that that was a struggle that Jim had to fight on his own, in his own time, even if that was a lifetime. Courage had to come from within; it couldn’t be forced.

Blowing a long breath, Jim rested his arms on the table, and then again picked up the pen. There were no guarantees, and there was bound to be fallout. But he had to do this, take the risks, face whatever came, including the cold reality that what he was about to do would give his partner the freedom to choose another life – and might even drive Blair away in anger for having been excluded from the decision to act.

Regardless of the risks, in spite of his fears, the time had come to set the record straight. Whatever happened, Blair’s dignity would be intact, his honour restored, his courage and integrity revealed … and whatever future he chose for himself, whether he left or stayed, he would no longer be caught in a web of lies.

He had to do this for Blair. And for himself. If for no other reason than that he loved the man and simply could not bear to continue to watch his partner pay too much, far too much, over and over again, out of loyalty to him and the friendship they shared.

When the thin light of dawn seeped through the windows, he left the table and made a pot of strong coffee. While it perked, he showered and dressed for the day. And then he sipped at the hot liquid as he stood at the balcony and waited another hour before he went to the phone and began making the necessary calls.

* * *

On his way to work Monday morning, his fingers tapping a restless tattoo on the steering wheel, Blair waited for the light to change. He felt uneasy and, despite his firm intention to choose to be happy with what he had and the possibility of a future with Maddie, he knew he wasn’t at all content with his life. For one thing, he missed Jim’s company more than he really wanted to admit to himself. For another, he was increasingly conscious that Maddie had yet to ever address him by name. His face scrunched up as he thought about how weird that was, especially given that she held nothing back and seemed endlessly eager to drink in every word he uttered, so long as the word bore some relationship to anthropology – her interest quickly waned whenever he talked about his job. And she was voracious in her desire for him, for his body, his love-making, as if she could never get enough of his touch.

Shaking his head, he frowned, wishing that he felt more satisfaction with their relationship. He told himself he had no problem being the one who gave, who touched and murmured endearments but … he wasn’t satisfied. She only touched him to guide him toward giving her more pleasure, only spoke to demand more of what he freely offered. Though he was getting more good sex than he’d enjoyed for years, it felt increasingly hollow, empty, even mechanical. He’d thought initially her lack of engagement as an equal partner in the physical act of love had been shyness and inexperience, but now he wondered if she was at all interested in him, in what gave him pleasure. Biting his lip, perplexed, feeling as if he was missing something and didn’t understand much of anything, he stepped on the gas as the light turned green, and shortly after, he pulled into the underground garage.

Long resigned to being something of a pariah, he didn’t even notice the routine sidelong looks or the usual grimaces of distaste as he strode across the concrete floor and into the building with the others who were reporting for work. He was too busy telling himself that he _should_ be happy and, as he entered the elevator, he was again mutely reviewing his mantra. He’d gotten what he wanted. He was Jim’s official partner for the rest of their careers, or so he hoped. He had a beautiful, intelligent woman who wanted him in her life and bed, so much so that she still refused to share him with anyone, refused even to leave the apartment, wanting only to be with him. What he had was enough and it was futile, even greedy, to ache for more, for what was increasingly evident was never going to happen. The love of his life didn’t love him, not in the same way, anyway. And that’s just the way it was.

Straightening his shoulders, lifting his chin, he strode out of the elevator and along the hall, schooling his expression to not reveal anything of how much it cost to look at the one he loved, to be with him all day, and never let on that he ached for so very much more.

But Jim hadn’t arrived yet and, as he crossed the office floor, Simon called from his office and waved him inside. He’d barely stepped through the portal when his boss soberly told him, “Burns was arrested Friday night. Jim’s research and footwork paid off – he found the financial motive for Burns wanting his wife dead, and identified the lover. She gave us a statement, and the D.A. now has the docket. A new trial date is being set.”

Blair’s lips parted as he took it in, processed it, and he nodded slowly, not at all surprised that his partner’s unauthorized investigation had paid off. “Thanks, Captain,” he said quietly, wishing he didn’t feel dread at once again being called to testify because the requirement for his testimony was inevitable and necessary.

Banks rifled through the files on his desk and pulled out a manila folder. Handing it to Blair, he explained, “This is your new case – suspected illegal arms smuggling. Once you and Jim have had a chance to look over what’s there, the two of you come in and give me your take on it.”

“Will do,” he agreed, turning to go. But he paused and looked back over his shoulder as he said, “I really do appreciate that you didn’t let the Burns case drop. I hated the thought that the guy was going to get away with it.”

“I know you did, Blair,” Simon allowed. “I’m … well, I’m sorry that ….”

But Blair cut him off. “No, please – don’t apologize, okay? We all knew what to expect; it was no surprise. I’m okay, Simon. Really, I am. You don’t have to worry about me.”

Simon quirked a brow and seemed about to argue the point, but then he sighed and simply said, “Oh, by the way, Jim had some personal business to attend to this morning and will be late coming in. You go ahead and get started on the case, and brief him when he arrives.”

“Good enough,” Blair agreed and left. But as he walked to his desk, he found himself wondering what personal business Jim was attending to and feeling a heavy sense of loss that they’d grown so far apart that he had no idea what it might be. He felt that he no longer had any right to ask, and the sorrow of that took his breath away. He didn’t notice Joel watching him with anxious compassion, or the meaningful glance he and Simon briefly exchanged.

* * *

Frustrated by the woman’s vengeful intransigence, Jim glanced irritably at his watch. He’d spent the morning waiting in tense silence for over an hour, while Dr. Stoddard read his copy, the only copy, of Blair’s dissertation. And then he’d attested to the validity of the document, answered all the professor’s questions as concisely as he could, did a few demonstrations to prove the assertions made in the paper, and had signed a formal affirmation of the contents. After the professor had had two copies made, they had gone directly to the Chancellor’s Office, where Jim had made his demands. He’d now been listening to her refusals for ten minutes. Enough was enough. Standing, he abruptly cut into her rationalizations and said bluntly, “Either comply with my wishes or prepare for a legal suit against you and the University, and a public statement of protest that you are willfully and maliciously denying Blair Sandburg the doctorate he has more than earned. You have four days to do whatever you have to do to prepare the necessary documents that Dr. Stoddard has agreed he will present on the University’s behalf.”

Snorting contemptuously, she challenged, “That’s an empty threat. If you were prepared to go public, you would have done so a year ago.”

A glacial smile ghosted over his lips as he glared at her with icy resolution. “Don’t push me, lady,” he replied flatly. “You and Berkshire Publishing revealed what was supposed to be confidential information without the author’s consent – and that’s illegal. Make it right _exactly_ as I’ve stipulated, or be prepared to pay the heaviest penalties I can bring to bear under the law. We’re talking public humiliation, loss of credibility of the institution, millions in damages and a criminal record for intellectual property theft and violation of copyright. You really want to bet that I’m bluffing? Go ahead. Fight me on this and I promise you, you’ll lose. The bottom line is I _am_ a sentinel, and every word in that document is true.”

With that, he nodded gratefully at the professor for his support that morning, turned on his heel and strode out of the office.

When he left the building, he paused on the steps and took a deep gulp of air. He’d done it and there was no going back. Stark fear fluttered in his belly but, like a man determined to face the execution squad with dignity, he tightened his jaw and resolutely squared his shoulders. Then he hastened down the stone stairs and back to his truck. He still had to meet with Steven before he went to the office and he was more worried about that than about what had just transpired, because he wasn’t as sure that involving his brother was the right thing to do. In fact, he knew it was wrong, a violation of trust – something he’d been quick to accuse Blair of doing in the past – to share information about Blair’s personal life that his partner didn’t know or even suspect. But he couldn’t think of any other way to ensure that bitch, Maddie, revealed herself as the manipulative, cold and calculating creature she was, so that Blair could see the real woman behind the mask and make his own determination about her and their relationship before she ripped his heart out. Even if Blair ended up hating him for it, he had to give his partner the chance to see her clearly, to know he wasn’t losing anything real.

* * *

Blair spent the morning doing the basic computer work required at the beginning of any new case, obtaining profiles and histories on the suspects, running the financial records, tracking serial numbers of the few weapons that had turned up, examining the structures of dummy corporations that were fronts for the illegal shipping and transportation, pulling up ship schedules and on and on, amassing a heavy pile of paper in the process. By late morning, he was calling contacts in other agencies, state and federal, to determine what information, if any, they had on the suspected operation and the main characters involved. Several times, he’d glanced up at the clock, wondering where Jim was and what was taking so long. And he was beginning to worry. A dentist appointment, or one with the doctor, wouldn’t take all morning, not unless there were a lot of tests involved. He tried to push the anxiety away, but he couldn’t think of any other personal business that Jim might have. Frowning, he reflected over the past weeks. Jim hadn’t seemed sick or anything, just distant. But it would be just like him to hide any serious problem.

By noon, he was seriously twitchy and having difficulty concentrating on his job. When Joel ambled by his desk and invited him out to lunch, he nearly refused, but then grabbed at the distraction it offered. Besides, he liked Joel and they never seemed to spend any time together anymore. Loneliness flared in his gut, and then he smiled at his friend, grateful for the invitation.

Having achieved such success with his diet and fitness program, Joel had become nearly fanatical about eating healthfully while still indulging his desire for tasty food and lots of it, so they walked to the trendy vegetarian restaurant that offered humongous salads among other tempting dishes. Along the way, Joel brought him up to date on the details of the Burns arrest, and then asked how his new case was going. But when they settled at their table in a corner by a window, had placed their orders and were sipping on cranberry juice, Joel regarded him with eyes that were warm with concern.

“How are you, really?” he asked. “And don’t give me any of that ‘I’m fine’ stuff.”

Smiling, Blair looked away and shook his head. “I really am fine,” he replied and then held up his hands at the look of skepticism on his friend’s face. “Okay, so the trial a few weeks ago was … tough. But the media fallout wasn’t as bad as I thought it might be. And I like the work. I really do. And, well, you know all I really wanted for years was to be Jim’s official partner.”

“Uh huh,” Joel grunted, his lips twisting in a slight grimace. “So you’re telling me that you haven’t gotten heartily sick of the way you’re treated by most people down at the station?”

Sighing, Blair’s gaze dropped to the table, and he moved the frosted glass in small circles on the table. Absently palming off the moisture that beaded in rings on the wood, he shrugged. Flicking a look back at Joel before staring out at the street, he said quietly, “I have to ignore it, you know? I mean it doesn’t do any good to get angry or feel badly about it. Life isn’t perfect, but then life never is.” Returning Joel’s gaze candidly, he reiterated, “I got what I most wanted, Joel. That’s enough.”

Joel frowned but held off commenting until the waiter had deposited their salads on the table, refilled their water glasses and moved off. He plunged his fork into the massive bowl of greens, berries, and nuts, and then asked, “How’s Jim doing? He seems pretty, I don’t know, remote, I guess.”

“Remote is a good word for it,” Blair returned unhappily. “But part of that is probably my fault. I haven’t seen much of him lately, only at work.” He hesitated and then added, “I’ve, uh, I’ve been seeing someone, spending all my time at her place for the past nearly three weeks.”

“Oh yeah?” Joel looked up with a curious half-smile. “Do I hear wedding bells in the distance?”

Snorting softly, grinning back at the gentle teasing, Blair shook his head. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “It’s been pretty intense but … it’s hard to explain. I like her, a lot, actually. She’s a student at Rainier and it’s fun to talk anthropology again. But it doesn’t feel like it’s going anywhere. I keep telling myself I should just be grateful, you know, and enjoy it while it lasts? It’s been awhile since, well, since I’ve spent any time with anyone.”

“Anyone but Jim,” the older man murmured quietly.

“Yeah,” Blair agreed, determinedly focusing his attention on his meal. And then he ventured, “You have any idea what Jim’s been doing all morning? Simon said it was personal business.”

“You don’t know?” Joel queried. “Used to be, that man hardly drew a breath without you taking note.”

Grimacing, Blair pushed the salad bowl away, not really hungry, sorry he’d raised the subject. Evading a direct answer, he said, “I wondered if he was still working on the Burns case, chasing down more information or something.”

“Nah, we’ve got what we need on that,” Joel told him. “And that wouldn’t count as personal business, anyway, not now that we’ve actively opened the case again.”

Swallowing, Blair nodded and fiddled with his paper napkin, slowly shredding it.

“You know, son, you say you’re fine but I have to tell you, you look miserable,” Joel observed with soft compassion. “I’m not saying you have to confide in me or anything like that. But you know I’m always ready to listen, right?” Bleakly, Blair bowed his head and his shoulders sagged as he let go of his perpetually cheerful façade. But when he didn’t say anything, Joel continued, “Can I help?”

“I don’t know,” Blair said, his voice low and strained. “I don’t know what to do anymore, you know?” He lifted his head but his eyes remained hooded by his long lashes as he stared sightlessly at the table. “I’ve … I’ve tried to do my best for the past year, right? And, and I’m making a contribution, I know I am. But Jim pretty much stopped talking to me long before I virtually moved out; and Simon … Simon used to be my friend but now he’s just my Captain. I know hardly anyone in the department trusts me and I try to not let that get to me – I know it will take time; a lot of time, and that trial just set things back, that’s all. Eventually, maybe, people will forget. But I don’t know if Jim and Simon are sorry they offered me the badge, if maybe it’s just all more trouble than they bargained for. And Jim’s doing fine; he doesn’t really need my help with … well, you know. I don’t want to quit, I really don’t. But I don’t know anymore if I’m doing the right thing by staying.”

“You think Jim feels bad about everything that happened, about what’s still happening, but doesn’t know what to do about it?”

Sighing, Blair nodded slowly. “Yeah, I think so. I’ve told him and told him that I’m okay, because mostly I really am, or would be, if we could just be comfortable with each other again. But it’s like nothing I say or do convinces him that he doesn’t have to worry about me.”

Reaching across the table, Joel covered Blair’s hand with his own and, surprised, Sandburg lifted his eyes to meet his gaze. “Listen to me,” he said firmly. “You’ve done a great job this past year, and you’ve handled everything with … well, with a lot of class, I guess. Believe me, Blair – Simon, Jim, me, H – we don’t want to lose you. We want you to stay, and that’s the honest to God truth. We just worry that, maybe, it’s costing you too much, that’s all. It just seems so damned unfair that you’re left taking all the heat.”

Blair studied him for a long moment of intense silence, and he nibbled at his lower lip before he tightened his jaw and straightened his shoulders. “Okay,” he said soberly. “Thanks. I … I guess I needed to hear that. That I’m not wrong to want to stay, to want to keep trying to make it work.”

“No, son, trust me, you’re not wrong about that at all.” Joel tightened his grip on Blair’s hand briefly and then drew back. Waving at the mostly untouched salad, he asked, “So, you gonna eat that, or what?”

Smiling, his appetite better than it had been moments before, Blair drew the bowl closer and picked up his fork. After he’d taken a few bites, Joel asked with studied innocence, “So … about this girl?”

Laughing, Blair waved off the subject. “Uh, uh,” he grinned. “There’re some things that a man just likes to keep to himself, you know?”

Grinning, Joel nodded. “Yeah, I guess I do. Guess I’m just wondering how serious it is … and, well, how Jim’s reacted to your being gone most of the time.”

With a slight shrug, Blair replied, “It’s too soon to know if it’s serious or not, but it might be. As for Jim, man, I have no idea what he thinks about it all. I’m assuming he likes having his own space back.”

“You know, you guys really need to talk more about something other than work,” Joel observed dryly.

Snorting, Blair rolled his eyes but avoided responding by forking up another mouthful. He didn’t disagree; he just didn’t know how to get the conversation started again because he and Jim just didn’t seem to have much to say to one another anymore. For the moment, he was glad to trust Joel’s assessment that, despite the isolation he felt, the people he respected and trusted most did want him to stick around. For now, that was enough.

By the time they got back to the office, Jim had arrived and was going through the information Blair had compiled on their new case. When Sandburg asked him casually where he’d been all morning, Jim muttered that he’d had to get together with Steven over some family business, and then redirected the conversation back to the case. A small frown puckered Blair’s brow, but he let it go; if Jim didn’t want to talk about whatever it was, well, then, that was pretty much that. Taking a breath, he reminded himself of Joel’s assurances that, all indications to the contrary, Jim really did want him to stick around.

* * *

The week sped by, their energy and attention fully engaged in the long hours required to track down the warehouse where the illegal weapons were stored, shadow the principals, and set up the takedown before the weapons could be moved out. Jim’s senses, mainly his enhanced hearing, gave them the information that a buyer was coming into town from California on Friday afternoon. Blair’s research into Joey Markham, the mob-affiliated importer and his willingness – less grudging than his partner’s – to affiliate with other law enforcement agencies to compile information on the buyer, Sal Luciano, gave them enough probable cause to get the warrants they required. Working together, pooling their detective and interviewing skills garnered the leads they needed to determine the warehouse’s location. A stakeout on Thursday evening confirmed their suspicions, and the raid was set up on Friday morning.

Maddie had been less than thrilled with Blair’s willingness to put his job before her, and she both complained about the long, late hours and insisted that he return to her place each night to sleep. Only, he didn’t get much sleep; her appetite for his attentions was ever more voracious, as if she was desperate to recapture the lost hours without his company. He was gratified that she seemed to miss him and so keenly wanted him, but he was increasingly confused by the sense that something was ‘off’. She still hadn’t once called him by name, not even in the throes of passion. He tried to tell himself that a lot of people didn’t, as a matter of course, use names with one another in direct conversation … but still, it bothered him. She didn’t call him anything, not ‘Blair’, not ‘darling’, not anything. No, that wasn’t quite true, he reminded himself on the way to work Friday morning. The night before, when he’d come in after midnight, she’d sarcastically said, “So the cop is finally done for the night.” He’d smiled wearily as he’d pulled his hair loose from the leather tie and lifted a brow seductively, suggesting, “Well, maybe he’s just beginning.”

Appeased, she’d laughed and hauled him to her bed.

As for Jim, well, Blair had found him oddly jittery all week and, if anything, even more withdrawn. He wasn’t irascible, exactly, but he looked like he wasn’t getting much sleep, either. Every once in a while, Blair caught him giving him sidelong, speculative looks and he could have sworn he saw anxious worry in his partner’s eyes before they slid away or were quickly hooded. He’d asked, a couple times, if something was wrong, but Jim either only shook his head mutely or made some comment about the case.

All in all, it had made for a tense, very tiring week. He was relieved when the operation late Friday afternoon went smoothly, even more grateful when the interrogations and paperwork were wrapped up before ten that night.

Yawning as he shutdown his computer, he mumbled, “Man, I could sleep for a week.”

Jim gave him a sardonic look but only said, “Yeah, well, just remember the Awards dinner is tomorrow night.”

Looking up with a thin grin, he replied, “Oh, I wouldn’t miss it for the world. I love seeing you all uptight about the whistling and cheering when you go to the podium to claim your ‘Cop of the Year’ award. There’s not much doubt that you’re going to win – again.” When Jim grimaced, he laughed delightedly. “Yeah, that’s the expression, alright! Have you been practicing?”

Jim snorted and stood to walk out with him. When they got to the parking lot, Blair briefly touched his arm and said quietly, “I know you find it all embarrassing, but you really do deserve that award, Jim. I’m glad your Dad and Steven will be there this year, to see it presented to you.”

“Yeah, well,” Jim muttered with a shrug, his gaze slipping away.

“So, it’s okay if Maddie and I share a table with you guys?” he went on a trifle uncertainly.

Startled, Jim’s penetrating gaze met his own. “Of course,” he exclaimed. “Where else would you sit?” When shadows darkened Blair’s eyes, Jim seemed to realize he was thinking that the point was well-made; certainly no one else aside from Jim, Simon, Joel and Henri would welcome him at their table. He reached out to grip Blair’s shoulder and hastened to explain, “Chief, I didn’t mean it like that. I meant we’re partners, so of course we’ll sit together. Simon’s arranged for two tables to be set up together, so there’ll be ten places. Along with Maddie, Joel’s wife will be there and so will H’s girlfriend, Sandra. The rest of MCU will be at the next table.”

“Okay, great,” Blair replied, relieved and once again smiling. “We’ll be there at six-thirty.”

Jim slapped him on the shoulder before turning toward his truck. “See you then,” he called over his shoulder.

* * *

Given Maddie’s total lack of interest in his job, and her antipathy about the long hours over the past week – not to mention the fact that in the past almost month they’d never left the apartment – Blair was a bit surprised at how enthusiastic she was about going to the Awards dinner. But he was also relieved. Much as he’d been enjoying her company, he’d long felt a need to broaden their activities a bit. Maybe after that night, she’d finally be willing to go out to a movie, or to the Farmer’s Market, or dancing … or even just a walk along the harbour or in a park. He’d been beginning to worry that she might be agoraphobic, or something.

But from the way she fussed with her hair and makeup, and the new dress she’d bought, a sexy silk emerald green that matched her eyes, it was pretty clear that she was looking forward to the evening with great anticipation. He thought she was making the effort for him, to be at her best when she met his friends and colleagues for the first time, and he was grateful. Very grateful. So grateful he tucked a condom in his jacket pocket, thinking that it might be fun to suggest to her that they get a room at the hotel after the ceremony. Maybe a change of venue, something stylish and slightly risqué would improve her personal involvement in their love making that night.

Whistling softly to himself, he looked forward to the evening ahead.

Until they walked into the ballroom at the Citadel Hotel, and he introduced her to everyone, and it was patently obvious that she was only interested in making the acquaintance of William and Steven Ellison. At first, he tried to tell himself that she was just doing her best to be friendly with his partner’s father and brother, that the bright sparkle in her eyes, slight flush of excitement and rich laughter were only because she was having a good time. Except she ignored his actual partner completely, along with every other colleague he presented to her … and she was doing a pretty fair job of ignoring him, too, as they stood around in a group, sipping at glasses of wine before dinner was announced.

When they took their places at the table, and she made a point of latching onto Steven’s arm, to draw him down to the seat on her far side, his gaze narrowed and his attention sharpened. Throughout the four courses of bland soup, tired salad, rubber chicken and some indeterminate kind of cake, all he saw was her profile or the back of her head, while she chatted charmingly with Steven. Embarrassed to be so blatantly ignored by his date for the evening, he avoided making eye contact with anyone else at the table and focused on forcing down his meal, while he listened and thought about what was going on. He was as surprised by Steven’s behaviour as much as hers – the man was acting as if he were smitten, and maybe he was. But Steven wasn’t an insensitive guy – wasn’t the type to hustle another man’s girlfriend, at least not so blatantly.

As for Maddie, at least now he understood why she’d been so keen to attend the function. He was a pretty fair detective in his own right, and it was clear to him that she had set her cap for a far wealthier man than he was. Bitterly, he noticed that she used Steven’s name just about every other sentence, and with increasing familiarity. He felt a bit as if he’d been kicked in the gut, and was completely staggered by her behaviour. He found himself wondering why the hell she’d been spending so much time with him, had seemed to want him around so badly and so exclusively, when she quite evidently really didn’t give a damn about him. Bleakly, he wished he could have found that out in a less public environment and not in front of his best friends. Here, he’d been thinking that maybe they might have something special going, that maybe he could even imagine being happy with her and all the time … what? What had she been doing?

His mind flickered over the past weeks, and he remembered her constant encouragement to talk about the courses she’d be taking, the notes she’d made, and he closed his eyes. He’d been had. She’d been using him to get a leg up on her program; she’d wanted a private tutorial and she’d gotten one, in spades. And the sex? All of a sudden, her lack of engagement in pleasuring him, her wantonness in simply taking all he could give her, made sense. He’d been a toy, a plaything, nothing more. He’d never meant anything to her, not as a man, a human being in his own right. No wonder she hadn’t used his name. He’d never been a real person to her, just a thing to be used. Feeling sick, he pushed his plate away, unable to stomach more.

Flicking a quick glance around the table, he noted that everyone else was very carefully, very kindly, ignoring what was going on. Chatting with one another, telling jokes or amusing stories from work, they were successfully covering his uncharacteristic silence and her blatant flirtation with another man. But he could hear brittleness in their voices, a forced tone to some of the laughter.

God, he felt like such a fool.

Leaning back in his chair, he wiped a hand over his mouth and sorely wished the evening was over and he could escape. But there were hours to go yet; hours of presentations and speeches. Sighing, he figured he should be grateful. At least once the dinner was over, a hush would come over the crowd as everyone focused on the podium and her lively conversation with Steven would be forced to end, in courtesy if nothing else. And then, what? Well, he supposed he’d take her home, pack up his stuff, and return to the loft with his tail between his legs – and hope that Jim left it alone and never, ever said anything about it all. Glancing at his partner, he wondered if Jim felt uncomfortable with the fact that his brother was hustling his partner’s lover. There were telltale signs that Jim was tense; his fingertips were tapping an unconscious tattoo on the table, and he was pale, with lines of strain around his eyes. But that could just be the dread he always felt at these functions. Maybe he wasn’t even noticing what was going on.

Like a sentinel missed the obvious. Yeah, right.

Resigned to being trapped until the evening was over, Blair was waiting impatiently for the speeches to start when he heard Steven say, “You know, I can think of places I’d rather be right now. How about you?”

His mouth dropped open and he blinked, seriously wondering if maybe he was dreaming and none of this was real. Turning his head, he gaped past Maddie at Steven. No way would that man leave before seeing Jim receive his award. What the hell was going on here? He looked quickly at his partner, and saw that Jim had gone completely still, his head slightly turned away and bowed, as if he felt ashamed. Maddie’s hand on his arm drew his attention back to her.

“I’m sorry, but I’m not feeling very well,” she said with a credibly regretful pout. “I really don’t want to pull you away from this, because I know the evening is important to you co … uh, all of you. Steven has offered to take me home. You don’t mind do you? I’ll give you a call tomorrow.”

He squinted at her, his head cocked a little to the side, and he had to give her credit. It was as smooth a publicly announced ‘get lost’ message as he’d ever received but, given what he now understood, he was less upset than he might have been. In fact, he felt damned glad to see the last of her and only regretted that he’d have to retrieve his belongings from her apartment. Finding his voice, he said coldly, “No, I don’t mind at all.”

He looked past her at Steven, who quickly dropped his gaze and flushed slightly. Injecting a world of meaning into his tone, he said, “Thanks, Steven. I appreciate you, uh, taking Maddie home.”

Jim’s brother looked up into his steady gaze and then nodded. Standing, he drew Maddie to her feet but, when she turned to walk out of the ballroom, he briefly squeezed Blair’s shoulder and bent down to say quietly, “I’ll be back soon.”

Swallowing to moisten his very dry throat, his expression carefully contained, Blair simply nodded and, not interested in watching her leave him behind, he turned away. Holding himself rigidly still, he wasn’t sure whether to be furious or relieved at having been set up again – this time, by Jim and his brother. Because, clearly, there was some game going on that he hadn’t been told about. His lips tightened as he physically stopped himself from demanding answers, then and there. It wasn’t the time or the place, but Jim had some major explaining to do. Catching Simon and Joel giving him covert glances, he felt his anger grow. Dammit, did everyone but him know it had _all_ been a set-up? All of it? Her using him? Steven playing her along?

Altogether, he figured this evening ranked right up there with some of the most humiliating moments of his life. Crossing his arms, he steamed in grim silence. Though he might well return to the loft that night to have it out with Jim, he was going to have to find himself a room in a hotel because he sure in hell wasn’t going back to her place and he had no desire to remain at home. His lips twisted wryly as he thought about the condom in his pocket and the plans he’d had for a room at this very hotel. Well, since he no longer had a date to impress, he could find himself much more modestly priced digs for the night.

Staring at the tablecloth, despite Joel’s assurances earlier in the week, for the first time he seriously considered that he needed to move on. He could take the shit at work. But he couldn’t take losing what little credibility he had with his colleagues in MCU. They must all think he was some kind of idiot. God damn it. How had Jim twigged to the fact that she was using him? And why the hell hadn’t he just come clean and told him? Why this elaborate farce? The hell with it. He seriously did not need this shit.

He pushed back his chair and was about to rise when Jim gripped his arm. “Please,” his partner asked quietly, his voice strained, “stay.”

“Why should I?” he challenged, though he kept his voice low, too soft for others at the table to hear.

“Trust me,” his partner appealed hoarsely.

Blair was about to pull away when he looked into Jim’s eyes and saw … fear. And hope. All mixed up with grief and sorrow. Hesitating, his teeth worrying his lower lip, he tried to make sense of what he was seeing, hearing in Jim’s voice. _‘Trust me’_ , the request simple, unvarnished and poignant. His jaw tightened and he closed his eyes, and he sought to quell his roiling emotions. Blowing a long breath, he nodded reluctantly as he settled again in his chair.

A moment later, the lights flickered and dimmed, and then the Chief rose from his seat at the head table to move to the podium.

* * *

Steven’s pleasantly flirtatious façade gave way to the cold contempt he felt for the woman as soon as he gained entry to her apartment. Moving past as she held the door open for him and waved him inside, glancing at his watch, he said tightly, “I’ll pack up Blair’s gear and be out of here in fifteen minutes.”

“What?” she gasped, her eyes widening in shock. “What makes you think –”

“Let’s cut the crap, shall we?” he cut in ruthlessly. “Blair’s my brother’s best friend, and a good friend of mine. You think I don’t know you’ve been using him? Or that I’d seriously find a bitch like you attractive? Get real.”

Moving further into the small apartment, he spotted Blair’s carryall bag and briefcase in the corner inside her bedroom doorway. Ignoring her angry order that he get out, he went into the room, opened the bag and began filling it with Blair’s clothing from the closet. And then he strode past her to the bathroom, to pack his friend’s toiletries. Before leaving, he did a sweep of the living room, retrieved a pullover on the back of a chair, stuffed it into the suitcase and then checked the hall closet for jackets.

When he was finished, he turned back to her and was unmoved by her flush of fury. “If I’ve missed anything, I expect that you will courier it to him first thing on Monday.”

“Go to hell,” she snapped, crossing her arms defiantly.

His expression contemptuous, he set the bags on the floor and moved closer to tower over her. “You were heard slandering him in the grocery store this past week, as well as gloating about how you tricked him into providing you with invaluable information for your graduate studies. You will cooperate in returning any of his belongings, and you will refrain from ever again discussing him with anyone. If I learn you’ve failed in these stipulations, I’ll sue your ass for slander and have you tossed out of Rainier. My father is no more impressed with you than I am, and he’s the Chairman of the University’s Board of Regents. Do I make myself clear?”

She paled and swallowed hard, nodded stiffly.

Taking a step back, he regarded her with loathing. “You’re a fool, Maddie. He’s the best man you’ll ever know and you were damned lucky that he was at all interested in you. You’ve no idea how badly you’ve screwed up or how stupid you truly are.”

With that, he turned away, picked up the bags and strode out of the apartment, slamming the door behind him.

On his way back to the hotel, he detoured to the loft, quickly deposited Blair’s things in his room, and then he hurried back to his car. Less than an hour after leaving the banquet, he slipped into his chair at the table. His father leaned close to murmur that he hadn’t missed anything, and he nodded soberly. Then they both sat back and waited with mingled anxiety and anticipation for the rest of the evening’s events to unfold.

* * *

Acutely conscious of Steven’s return, Blair again found himself stiffening and longing for an end to the evening. In the past hour, there had been presentations of ten, fifteen and twenty year service medals, three citations for outstanding bravery and courage under fire, a special community policing achievement award, a team achievement award for the gang in Vice, who had gotten their act together after the mess a couple years back, and a mentoring award had been given to Joel, for his particular and consistent support of rookies. Shifting restlessly, he dared hope the ultimate award, Cop of the Year, would soon be presented and he could finally escape. From the rigidity of Jim’s posture and his ‘stone face’ impression of a rock, along with his clenched fists, and William’s slight jitters as evidenced by a tremble in his hand when he reached for his wine glass, Blair figured he wasn’t the only one to be eagerly anticipating the end of the ceremony.

But, part of him felt badly about that because he was proud of Jim and was honestly delighted each year when his partner won the ultimate award of the evening. Sighing, he forced himself to relax so that his own heightened sense of irritation wouldn’t detract from Jim’s success or his churlish behaviour tarnish the joy they’d all feel when it was announced. Of course, he was making an assumption that Jim would win again, but who else was there who could even come close to his achievements? Jim’s record of arrests remained unmatched and that single-handed and daring rescue of the Jags, along with Simon, Darryl and himself from Kincaid and his unmerry men was enough by itself to warrant another win. Clearly, it was such a foregone conclusion that Simon had given the go-ahead to have his father and brother present.

So, when the Chief was handed the small but elegant crystal award emblazoned with the crest of the Cascade PD and ‘Cop of the Year’, he sat forward in fond anticipation of once again cheering his partner’s success.

But the Chief didn’t start straight into his spiel. Inside, he asked for the lights in the room to be brightened, and then said, “This final presentation will include something a little different this year, something that the Commissioner and I wish to keep within the bounds of our community, at least for now. So, with respect, I’d ask the hotel staff and the media people who are here this evening to leave the room.”

His words provoked a stir in the crowd, and several reporters grumbled loudly about free speech as they left their seats but, as it wasn’t a public event and they were in attendance as invited guests, they felt obliged to comply with the request. Once the room had again settled and the doors had been securely closed, the Chief began again. “For the last four years, Major Crime’s Detective Jim Ellison has won this award for his outstanding contributions to law enforcement in Cascade.” Chuckling briefly, he added sardonically, “I was beginning to wonder if we should simply call it the Jim Ellison Award, and grant it to him in perpetuity,” and won laughter from the crowd. “This year is no different,” he went on. “Detective Ellison has once again racked up an impressive record of arrests of some exceedingly dangerous individuals but, this year, his record has been matched by another. This year, we have a tie for the award.”

Surprise rippled through the crowd because everyone there knew Ellison was a legend in his own time. Nobody else ever came even close to equaling his record. But the Chief was talking again. “Detective Ellison, would you come forward to receive your award.”

The room erupted into cheers and applause. Honestly delighted at the celebration of Jim’s success regardless of the trauma the evening had held for him, Blair was smiling, pounding him on the back, and calling, “Way to go! See, I told you, you were a shoo-in!” Jim nodded in acknowledgement as he rose stiffly, shook Simon’s proffered hand and, with a small tight smile, skirted the tables between him and the podium. Once there, he stood at attention, silently flushing as the Chief enumerated the details of his achievements over the past year, and he formally shook his superior’s hand as he accepted the award. The Chief then ceded his place at the podium, to allow Jim the traditional opportunity for remarks by the winner. Jim set the award on the table, and pulled a folded sheaf of paper from his inside jacket pocket.

“Thank you, Chief Warren,” he began formally. “It’s an honour to receive this award, and very humbling because, of course, no one wins something like this alone. We all work in cooperation, pooling information from uniformed patrols and forensics, for example, to build our cases.” His throat was dry and he took a quick sip of water from a glass the Chief handed to him, cleared his throat and nervously straightened the pages he’d laid on the podium. Looking up at the crowd, his gaze first seeking out his father and brother, and then Blair, he took a breath, focused again on his notes, and carried on, “We also all work with our teams, and especially our partners, who normally share in our success. However, for nearly four years, my partner, Blair Sandburg, was an unofficial observer so, despite his significant contributions to my achievements and arrest record, he never received any pay, let alone any acknowledgement. This past year, now a detective in his own right, Blair has lived under the cloud of a press conference he gave just over a year ago, so that most still discount the very significant contributions he makes.” He paused, took a breath and lifted his eyes to meet Blair’s perplexed and confused gaze. “I’ve decided it’s time to set the record straight.”

His face paling in stunned surprise, Blair stiffened and sharply shook his head. “No,” he whispered low, insistently, knowing Jim could hear him if no one else could.

But though Jim held his gaze, he didn’t stop talking. “During that press conference, my partner confessed to lying in his dissertation, which not only brought an end to his academic career but has also tarnished his integrity and credibility as a human being, let alone an officer of the law. None of you can be faulted for believing what you heard him say – _saw_ him say on every news channel at the time. But the only lies Blair told were during the press conference itself, to protect me and my privacy.”

The whole room was utterly silent as everyone there hung on his words, wondering, beginning to guess, where he was going. Blair turned to Simon and hissed, “For God’s sake, stop him!” But Banks simply gave him a long look, his eyes warm with approbation, and shook his head.

Swallowing hard, Jim shifted his gaze to look out over the room and admitted hoarsely, “Up until almost five years ago, my senses were as normal as anyone else’s. But then, during the Switchman bombing case, everything changed and the heightened abilities I had repressed for most of my life came back with a vengeance. I am an individual with five significantly enhanced senses – a … a sentinel. Blair is the only person I’ve ever met who understands what that means. He found me and offered to help me, both to learn how to control and better use my senses and to watch my back when they were out of control. _That’s_ why he was an observer and rode with me as a volunteer for so many years. _Everything_ Blair wrote in the dissertation that was leaked to the media without his approval a year ago is true. To acknowledge that fact, and the value of his work, I’d like to call on Professor Emeritus, Dr. Elijah Stoddard, of Rainier University.”

While everyone else in the hall stared at Jim, some shaking their heads in consternation, Blair whipped his head around, and gaped as Eli rose from a table behind him. When the distinguished, elderly professor paused on his way to the podium to grip his shoulder, he grated, “Eli, this is a mistake. Stop him!”

But Stoddard only smiled gently at him and then continued to the front of the hall. Taking the podium, he told the gathered assembly, “Blair Sandburg had an agreement with his dissertation committee that the paper he wrote would be held in camera for a minimum of twenty-five years, to protect the source of his information and the subject of his study. This agreement was necessary to ensure the safety of his subject, because sentinels have vulnerabilities when their senses spike, moments of time when they are defenceless. Sentinels therefore need the support of what we call ‘companions’ or ‘guides’ to watch over them, to ensure their safety in those hazardous moments. Given his susceptibility to certain extreme conditions, Jim Ellison runs major risks with his life, greater risks than all of you may realize, despite your understanding of the dangers a career in law enforcement can entail. As Detective Ellison has said, for four, nearly five years now, Blair has played the role of his ‘guide’, helping him to better understand and utilize those senses, and protecting him in moments of dangerous vulnerability. As you can appreciate, should that information get into the wrong hands, the risks Detective Ellison would face on a daily basis would no doubt increase exponentially. Accordingly, when information from Blair’s dissertation was illegally made public last year, Detective Ellison was at extreme risk, so Blair decided the only safe thing to do was to publicly disavow the validity of the entire paper. Unfortunately, the situation was such that he had to deny his own credibility, labeling himself as a fraud and liar to make his assertions believable.”

Oblivious to the many heads that turned to regard him speculatively, sinking back in his chair, Blair covered his face with his hands and shook his head. This couldn’t be happening! It was too dangerous for Jim to out himself like this. Alarmed and appalled by the completely unexpected revelations, he pushed himself to his feet, intending to call a stop to the disclosures.

But to forestall his protest, Eli hurried on. “Detective Ellison has recently clarified matters with the faculty and administration people at Rainier who needed to know the truth to give fair evaluation to Blair’s paper. However, given the sensitivity of the subject matter, Blair’s exceptional academic achievement cannot be acknowledged or celebrated in the usual public graduation process. Accordingly, it seemed appropriate that this be done in the presence of his current colleagues. I’m very pleased to represent the University this evening, to award Blair Sandburg the Doctorate in Anthropology that he should have been granted a year ago. Blair, if you’d please come forward?”

Numbly, Blair shook his head, but Eli, the Chief and Jim all waved him forward, and Banks growled, “Go on, Sandburg, or we’ll never get out of here tonight.” But when Blair glanced down at his boss, he saw a huge smile wreathing Simon’s face. Dazed, he slowly approached the dais and, when he reached Eli’s side, the older man drew a sheepskin scroll from the shelf under the lectern and held it out to him.

“Congratulations, Blair – your dissertation was brilliant and beautifully crafted. You have more than earned your PhD.”

“Eli, this is a mistake! That document cannot be made public!” Blair insisted, refusing to take the scroll.

“Nor will it be,” Stoddard assured him. “Your dissertation will be sealed and held in the University’s vault for at least twenty-five years and perhaps even longer, subject to review at that time.” He paused and then went on, “I’m further authorized to offer you a full, tenured professorship at Rainier, should you choose to accept it.”

“My God,” Blair gasped, stunned, as he finally accepted the scroll.

His part in the evening’s activities now concluded, Eli shook his hand, patted him happily on the back, and stepped away to return to his seat in the back of the room; which left Blair staring at Jim. _“Why? Why now?”_ he rasped softly, shooting a glance at the stunned audience of colleagues.

In answer, Jim lifted an arm around his shoulders and drew him to stand close by his side at the podium. Looking out over the crowd, Jim said, “For nearly five years, Blair has served in silence. He’s faced the same risks I have, and more, given that for almost four of those years, he was untrained in police work and went unarmed into danger. Despite the personal risks, regardless of the injuries he suffered, he never once hesitated to follow me, to be there in case I needed him. For all of those first four years, his contributions went unsung because … well, because of the dangers disclosure can mean for me. A year ago, as Dr. Stoddard has explained, he sacrificed everything that he was to continue to protect me; for the past year, he has silently endured the censure of nearly everyone he has encountered because you didn’t know the truth.”

He glanced at Blair, who was standing stiffly beside him, his head bowed as he gnawed unhappily at his lip. Jim’s throat thickened and he had to clear his voice before he could continue, “Blair has protected me with his life and with his reputation; he has been a silent partner in all of my achievements over the past several years. His work with me has nearly cost him his life on several occasions and, metaphorically at least, a year ago, he voluntarily gave up his life to protect mine. He has contributed invaluably to every single one of my cases since we started working together, and even undertook undercover assignments when that was necessary. He should have been sharing in this ‘cop of the year’ award for all of these five years. If there was a ‘partner of the year’ award, it would be his, hands down – would probably have his name on it to commemorate his unfailing commitment and support, his courage and integrity, in consistently being the kind of partner under conditions of extreme duress that most of us can only aspire to be. Who else among us has given more, or even as much, as freely, with no acknowledgement? Indeed, with no expectation of being treated as more than the liar and fraud he said he was, just so he could do his job, as he saw it, and be the best partner he could be. I’m proud to share this year’s Cop of the Year Award with my partner, Blair Sandburg, because he earned it every bit as much or more than I did.”

When Jim stopped talking, heavy silence filled the hall. He blew a breath and then added, “As you can see, my partner is not particularly happy about sharing this information with you, and this evening’s events have come as a complete surprise to him. Blair would have fought me all the way, because he cares more about my safety than his own reputation. I know there is a risk in telling all of you the truth; we have to trust that you will not share it beyond these walls because, as Professor Stoddard explained, public disclosure of these facts could seriously endanger our lives when we’re confronting dangerous felons. But if we can’t trust one another, we can’t trust anyone. I wish I could be as comfortable in making this information fully public but Blair and Dr. Stoddard are right – the risks of doing so are too great. So, unfortunately, outside of our ranks, my partner will continue to have to live under the stigma of that press conference.” He paused and then concluded, “I am far more grateful to Blair for his loyalty and personal sacrifice than I have words to express, and I’m damned lucky to have him as my official partner. I ask you now to join with me in congratulating him for his fine work, his outstanding contributions to our arrest record, and his commitment to serve and protect to the best of his ability. Ladies and Gentlemen, I present this evening’s second recipient of the Cop of the Year Award, Doctor Blair Sandburg.”

The applause began at the MCU tables but soon swelled throughout the room, and then people were standing and some were cheering Blair’s name. In the midst of the tumultuous congratulations, the Chief formally handed him his own award and shook his hand.

Held securely by Jim’s arm around his shoulders, Blair gazed numbly at the cheering crowd of people who had mostly scorned him as recently as the day before. The evening’s events, the shock of Jim’s disclosure, Eli’s announcements and the sheepskin he still gripped in one hand, and the whole mess with Maddie, were all completely overwhelming. His throat too tight for words, lips compressed to still their incipient trembling, blinking quickly against the burn in his eyes, Blair struggled to take it all in, to make sense of it all. But mostly, all he could come up with was, ‘why’? Why had Jim felt the need to do this, to put himself at such risk? He had to know that there was no way to keep the news under wraps, not now, not when so many people knew the truth. He felt shaky and disoriented, grateful certainly for all that had been said, but resentful, too, for so many reasons, not least of which was that if Jim had been at all comfortable with disclosure a year ago, life would have been a hell of a lot easier. And he felt some anger, well, considerable anger, that Jim hadn’t done him the courtesy of discussing any of this with him, had just sprung it on him, as he’d apparently made arrangements with Steven to deal with Maddie – all behind his back. _‘Trust me’_ , Jim had urged just an hour or so before. Blair dazedly shook his head. None of this, none of what had transpired there that night, spoke of much trust between them.

Avoiding Jim’s gaze, confining himself to only the briefest comments in response to individual congratulations as they made their way back to their table, Blair managed to hold himself together until the formal evening was blessedly, finally, over and he could get the hell out of the hall. But when they stood to leave, people converged around them, wanting to talk about what they’d just been told. Unable to deal with any of them, needing to get some air, he was desperate to get away. But first, he turned to William and Steven Ellison and murmured with painful regret, “I’m sorry. I didn’t know he was going to do this.”

“It’s alright, son,” William assured him, though he looked drawn with worry. “We knew his plans, and we fully support his decision to clear the record here, with your colleagues, and with Rainier.”

“It’s a mistake,” Blair insisted, glancing over his shoulder at his partner, who’d been caught in a conversation with the Commissioner. “This shouldn’t have happened and I have no idea why he did all this.”

“That’s simple,” Steven told him. “You deserved the truth to be known.”

“I didn’t want this,” Blair argued, though he kept his tones hushed so as not to attract attention. “The whole point was to keep him safe. That’s my job.”

William scratched his cheek and shrugged. “Seems to me,” he mused, “that job works both ways, doesn’t it? The lies were getting in the way of you being able to do your job, right? Like in court last month? The continuous censure in the police department was hurting you, as a person, not just as a police officer, wasn’t it? As your partner, Jim has the same obligations to support you as you have to support him.” He paused as he looked across the room at his son, and smiled fondly. “Besides, Jimmy has always had a lot of trouble telling lies. He just can’t sustain them, not for long and especially not when those lies hurt someone else.” Leveling his gaze at Blair, he added meaningfully, “And when those lies are hurting someone he genuinely cares a great deal about, the silence damn near kills him. This was inevitable, Blair. This disclosure. You did your best to protect him, and I’m sincerely grateful to you for that. But he’s owed it to you to set the record straight, and he’s very much wanted to make things right for you.” With a wry smile, he gripped Blair’s shoulder and told him, “You’re not the only one in this partnership with integrity, maybe even too much integrity. Neither one of you seems to have the least sense of self-preservation when it comes to protecting the other.” Stepping back, he rolled his shoulders. “Well, it’s been a long, interesting evening, but I think it’s time to go home. Steven? You ready to drop me off?”

“Sure thing, Pops,” his son agreed with a grin. But before turning away, he said to Blair, “Congratulations, on your PhD and the award tonight. Both are well deserved. And … and I’m sorry for what happened earlier. I’m sure Jim will explain so that it will all make sense. I, uh, I took all your stuff back to the loft, so you won’t have to deal with her again.”

Blair’s gaze dropped as he fought the urge to strenuously assert that he wasn’t some little kid who had to be protected from life. But the deed had been done and it would be boorish to be ungrateful for the fact that he never had to see or speak to Maddie again. Steven was only the ‘messenger’, after all – the mastermind of the entire evening had no doubt been his partner, and he’d deal with Jim later. Nodding to acknowledge Steven’s assistance in an, uh, delicate matter, striving for some measure of dignity, he simply said, “Thanks. I appreciate that.”

When they turned away to seek out Jim, to touch base and reaffirm their support for him before leaving the ceremony, Blair found himself surrounded by people who enthusiastically or awkwardly congratulated him, some apologizing for the way they’d acted during the past year. He returned Joel’s hug and Simon’s handshake, conjured a grin for Henri, but he felt as if he were drowning and he had to get out. Without looking for his partner, he moved resolutely toward the exit, thanking people along the way for their good wishes as pleasantly and genuinely as he could, when mostly all he wanted to do was punch a wall. Mindful of the reporters crowding the wide doorway, he stuck his sheepskin under his arm and concealed the small crystal award with the edge of his jacket. Keeping his head down and sticking to the middle of the crowd, he was able to sweep past the media without attracting attention. Out in the lobby, he found Eli waiting for him, and it was all he could do to contain his anger that his longtime friend and former mentor had engaged in something that could be so disastrous for Jim without ever consulting him.

Striding toward his old friend, fury snapping in his eyes, he demanded sharply, “Eli, for God’s sake, what the hell did you think you were doing by getting involved in this? Surely, you of all people understood why I did what I did!”

Determinedly sanguine, Stoddard spread his hands innocently. “Aside from the fact that I agreed with Detective Ellison that it was the right thing to do and that you more than deserve both your doctorate and a place on our faculty, your partner is a determined, very resolute man. He gave the Chancellor no choice but to accede to his wishes or face punitive damages in the millions, as well as formal legal charges for our part in last year’s debacle.”

“Ah, God,” Blair sighed, only too able to picture Jim dressing down the dragon, and a helpless smile ghosted over his lips at the wish that he could have seen his partner lace into the Chancellor. His anger with Eli abated and, wishing he knew what to do, had a way to force this deadly genie back into the bottle, he scrubbed at his face. “If, when, this gets out, the media will go wild,” he muttered, surreptitiously glancing over his shoulder at the reporters who were thronged around the exit from the hall, attempting to ascertain what had gone on behind the closed doors. “Jim’s life ….” His throat tightened, and he was unable to continue.

Glancing at the reporters, Eli looped an arm around Blair’s shoulders and drew him outside. Once they were well beyond the risk of being overheard, he explained, “In addition to the granting of your degree and the offer of a position, Jim’s requirements included that only I and the Chancellor are to be privy to your dissertation. He required our signatures on a penalty payment agreement affirming that if any leaks of its content can be traced back to Rainier, twenty million dollars in damages will be immediately payable either to him or, in the event of his death, to you.”

Blair gaped at him, and then looked away, stunned. “Man, he really covered the bases, didn’t he?” he rasped.

“That he did,” Eli chuckled. “He’s a very formidable, even intimidating, man; he straight-out promised Chancellor Edwards that if she didn’t agree to all his terms, he’d go public immediately as well as lay formal charges and proceed with a lawsuit. She didn’t dare risk that he might be bluffing. You can be assured that if this information does become public, it will not be because we bandied it about.” They stood for a moment in silence on the street, letting people hurry or drift past them. And then Eli asked, “So … will you accept the offer of a professorship?”

“Ah, geez, Eli, I don’t know,” Blair replied distractedly. “I never expected anything like this – I need to wrap my head around everything that happened tonight. But … well, probably not. Not fulltime, anyway. Maybe a senior tutorial.” His lips thinned and, when a gust a wind blew his hair into his face, he raked it back impatiently. “Honestly, I don’t see how I can accept. I mean, won’t people have questions? Wonder about the dissertation? Wonder if all that media hoopla last year was true? I can’t risk that. I just can’t.”

“Well, you don’t need to make any decisions tonight, but think about it. We’ve missed you at the faculty meetings.”

He snorted. “Yeah, right. No comedy relief, huh?”

Eli chuckled and fondly patted his shoulder. “Come see me next week before you make any final decisions. We’ll see what we can work out. You’ve got real talent as a teacher, Blair. And a researcher. I know fieldwork is probably out of the question but I’d hate to lose you completely.”

“Thanks, Eli,” he replied soberly. “I really appreciate that. I’ll, uh, I’ll give you a call. Maybe we can meet for lunch.”

Stoddard regarded him thoughtfully for a long moment. “You’re not comfortable coming back on campus, are you?”

Shaking his head, Blair looked away. “Not yet. I … it’d be too tempting, you know? I was really happy there for a long time. But I don’t think that’s where I belong anymore.” Lifting his earnest gaze to Eli’s steady regard, he said, “I like being a detective. I like making an immediate, real difference in people’s lives, protecting people from the bad guys. Sounds dopey, I suppose. But I find the work satisfying.”

Nodding, regret shadowing his eyes, Stoddard sighed. “You made a real difference at Rainier, too, son. But I understand what you’re saying. We’ll talk again next week. For now, congratulations on being awarded your doctorate. You earned it and I’m glad to have had the privilege of being here tonight, to award it and to see you and your work acknowledged by your colleagues.”

Blair didn’t respond; he wasn’t so sure that all that had transpired was such a good thing. But he held out his hand and they shook and bid each other good night. Then, stepping out from under the protection of covered drive, heading in opposite directions, they quickly strode off through the heavy mist and light rain to find their vehicles.

* * *

Cornered by the senior officers of other units that crowded around him, wanting to know all about his senses, Jim lost track of his partner. Hastily promising to get in touch with each of them to give them a briefing the following week, he slid clear, only to encounter his father and brother. They’d been with Blair the last time he’d looked but now, scanning the room, he didn’t see Sandburg.

“Where’s Blair?” he asked tightly.

“He was just here,” Steven replied, looking back over his shoulder.

“Jim, he’s very worried about you,” William said, lightly gripping his eldest son’s arm. “About your safety.”

Hearing deep worry in his father’s voice, Jim sighed and raked a hand over his head. “I know,” he muttered wearily. “But everyone in here tonight knows the dangers and won’t say anything to outsiders. I’ll be okay.”

“I took his stuff back to the loft, like you asked,” Steven confirmed, looking away, still uncomfortable with his role in the evening’s events. “I told her to courier anything I missed back to him on Monday.” Meeting Jim’s eyes, he added with a diffident, uncertain shrug, “I think Blair was okay with it but … well ….”

“I’ll deal with it,” he replied. “Thanks for taking care of his things for him.”

William regarded his sons and could see the strain of the evening was wearing them both down, and he personally felt sandbagged. Watching, listening, to Jim’s public admission had been one of the hardest things he’d ever done. Though he had agreed that Blair was paying too high a penalty for his silence, for too long, William sorely wished the knowledge could have remained a secret. But it was done and they had to go on from here. The hall was more than half empty, the wait staff back and clearing the tables. Gazing around the room, he frowned to realize that Blair was no longer present. “Jim, you need to go after Blair, work this out with him, and we need to head off home.” Turning back to his son, he said, “You did the right thing, clearing his name, telling your colleagues. Whatever happens, we’re behind you all the way. You know that, right?”

“Yes, Dad, I know, and I’m grateful. Thanks for being here tonight,” he replied, the three of them already moving toward the exit. They got there just behind the Chief and the Commissioner, who were dealing with the reporters’ demands to know what had happened behind closed doors. Jim hastily hid the award he carried in his left hand under the inside of his jacket.

“I’m sure all of you know that some of our men and women perform their duties in extremely hazardous situations. If their true identities were known, their lives could be forfeit. The recipients of the last awards this evening cannot be named for that reason,” the Commissioner was blithely explaining. As he launched into further remarks about the excellence of the Cascade police force, Jim and the others slipped past and into the lobby. When it was clear that Blair wasn’t waiting for him there, Jim felt his gut tighten with renewed anxiety. Blair would have gone to the loft, he was sure of that.

But he wasn’t at all sure how long his partner would stay there.

Moments later, he was dashing through the drizzle to his truck and then swiftly heading home.

* * *

Jim pounded up the stairs to the loft and only slowed once he was close enough to hear Blair’s heartbeat and know his partner was inside the apartment. When he got to the door, he hesitated, took a deep breath and then entered. A single lamp was burning, and the award and sheepskin were on the table. Blair was standing by the balcony doors, hands in his front pants pockets, staring into the night. He was still in his suit, the deep indigo of the fabric slightly darker with damp over his shoulders, though he’d loosened his tie. Droplets in his hair caught the light, creating an aura effect like a halo around his head that Jim knew no one but him would ever be able to see. The residual moisture was the only clue he had that his partner had arrived only moments before.

Silence stretched between them, and then Blair’s reflected gaze, dark and unreadable, met his.

“You okay?” he asked, having difficulty reading Blair’s mood.

A slight shrug, and then Blair turned to face him. “I don’t know yet,” he replied awkwardly, his gaze drifting around the apartment. “Earlier this evening, after that little game with Maddie, I thought I’d only come back here long enough to have it out with you for setting up such a public humiliation. But after everything else, I don’t know what to think. I’m, uh, grateful for what you said tonight, about me, and I guess, about squaring things with Rainier … but I’m royally pissed off that you didn’t discuss any of it with me. And I’m worried about what that says about how far apart we’ve become. I’m scared, for you. Too many people know now. It’ll be impossible to keep a lid on it. How will you do your job once the media gets the story again? How do we keep you safe from predators smart enough to use your senses against you?” His dark, shadowed gaze returned to rest on Jim’s. “Most of all, I guess I’m wondering ‘why’? Why now? Why do any of what you did at all? None of it was necessary.”

Moving toward the kitchen, Jim set his award on the table beside Blair’s, skirted the counter and opened the fridge. “Beer?” he asked, over his shoulder.

“Yeah, sure,” Blair replied, sounding tired, as if he thought all his questions were going to be ignored, just as Jim had rejected any attempts to talk for months and months, until he’d given up trying.

Jim carried the chilled bottles into the living room, and then gestured toward the furniture, a mute invitation to sit down. Blair studied his face for a moment after taking the proffered bottle, and then silently took his habitual place on the sofa. Instead of distancing himself by choosing his usual chair, Jim sat down on the coffee table, facing his partner. “You want to start with Maddie, or with the disclosure, or what?” he asked, his gaze hooded.

Surprised by the quiet, diffident tone and the offer to talk about it all, Blair’s brows quirked in amazement but then, wanting answers, he frowned and leaned forward. “How did you know she was stringing me along?” he asked, his voice tight with the memory of his humiliation.

“Last Friday afternoon, I overheard her talking to a girlfriend about you. And about wanting to meet Steven and Dad,” Jim told him. The muscle in his jaw flexed and his hands tightened around the beer bottle. “I wanted to smack her,” he admitted hoarsely, and then took a quick swallow.

“Why didn’t you just tell me?” Blair demanded heatedly. “Why did you make me go through that charade tonight in front of everyone?”

Looking away, rubbing the back of his neck, Jim shrugged and shook his head. “I couldn’t,” he muttered. Flicking a look at Blair and then away, he explained, “I thought … I thought you might be in love with her. And, and I heard her planning how she was going to dump you after tonight. She’d gotten all the information she wanted or needed from you about her courses and …. Anyway, I couldn’t bring myself hurt you like that, by telling you she was only using you. You’ve been hurt enough lately by me or on my account; hurt for a long time now, I guess. I just couldn’t do it.”

“And you couldn’t afford to have her hear about your sentinel abilities, because she’s not trustworthy,” Blair added with a slight trace of bitterness. “So, knowing she was going to be there, you had to have a way to get her out of the room. Nice that Steven was willing to help out.”

“Yes, no, you don’t understand,” Jim stuttered, and then took a steadying breath before he rushed through his explanation. “I … I wanted you to have a chance to see what she was for yourself, to make your own decision about her before she had a chance to end things.” He paused and then added, “And I wanted a clean break for you. So you wouldn’t have to clear out your gear yourself or deal with her anymore.”

Blair studied him and then looked away. He leaned his head back on the sofa and closed his eyes. “Would have been a hell of a lot easier on me if you’d just told me,” he murmured wearily.

“Would you have believed me?” Jim asked, sounding like he doubted it.

Startled by the uncertainty in his friend’s tone, Blair jerked upright. “Of course I would have believed you!” he exclaimed. “I mean, yeah, it might’ve hurt … did hurt tonight. But at least it wouldn’t have been a public shaming.”

“You weren’t the one shamed tonight, Chief,” he replied grimly. “She was. She showed herself to be the bitch she is.”

“Yeah, and apparently I’m not smart or perceptive enough to have figured that out myself after living with her for nearly a month,” he snapped back. “Some detective I am. You must all think I’m a first class fool.”

“She played you, Blair,” Jim insisted vehemently, his hatred for the woman clear. “She came onto you when you were already down. After the trial news hit, you know you were impressed that she still wanted to see you – and that conniving little bitch knew you’d be impressed. She stalked you. She deliberately used your love of anthropology against you, and she … she took advantage of the fact that … that you needed some kindness, maybe some love, in your life right then.”

Blair’s mouth tightened and he swallowed as he averted his face. “She didn’t give me love; didn’t even pretend really. I _was_ a fool. I knew something was off and I didn’t do anything about it.” Ashamed, he turned his face away as he admitted softly, “You’re right. I deluded myself into thinking that her interest in my ideas and her pretty evident desire for me meant more than it did. That maybe it could be love. That maybe I could be happy with her.” He sighed and rubbed his eyes, shook his head.

Jim frowned with concern and unconsciously laid a consoling hand on his partner’s knee. “Did you love her?” he asked, afraid to hear the answer but needing to know.

Blair sniffed and then shook his head. “No. No, I didn’t. I tried.” A soft, sad smile curled his lips. “Even the sex wasn’t good. I should have known. Should have stopped it.”

“That’s not what she said,” Jim muttered.

“What?” Blair demanded, his gaze penetrating.

Realizing he’d said more than he intended, Jim looked away, and then shrugged. There was no choice now but to tell the kid the rest. “Her interest in anthropology was only secondary. She wanted to get you into bed. I guess … I guess you had a reputation on campus as quite a stud. She, uh, said it was deserved. That she was going to miss … well, you know.”

Blair snorted. “Well, I guess she got what she wanted, and then some,” he replied ironically. He took a slug from the bottle and, remembering her hunger for his attentions, smiled bitterly. “I hope I ruined her for anyone else.”

Chuckling wryly, Jim told him, “She said you had.”

Smirking, one brow arching in amusement, he said, “Good.” But he sobered and said seriously, “I still wish you’d told me. That was a bad scene tonight, man. And poor Steven, getting caught into it.”

“Steven … Steven felt bad about it,” Jim admitted. “But he was glad to bring your stuff back here so you wouldn’t have to deal with her anymore.”

Huffing a breath, Blair grated, “You know, I’m not a kid, Jim; you didn’t need to go to such lengths to protect me from the wicked witch of Rainer. I’m old enough to handle my own problems.”

“I know, I know,” he replied, holding up his hands in surrender. “I just … you’ve had to deal with so much grief for so long.” He shook his head, not able to find the words to express how much he’d wanted to get Blair out of her clutches, and how much he’d wanted his partner to be glad to be rid of her. And how infinitely tired he was of seeing Blair hurt.

“Speaking of which,” Blair retorted, his gaze sharpening, “what the hell did you think you were doing, telling Eli and Edwards, let alone everyone in the PD and their significant others? I know you weren’t happy with the secrets, man, but this could be bad, really bad. I know you want to trust everyone who was there tonight, and everyone else at the PD who wasn’t but will hear about it – but, Jim, anyone can let something slip, and aggrieved spouses going through divorce can want to make the PD ‘pay’ for their unhappiness. And, well, we know from experience that there can be a bad apple in the bunch.”

“They stopped being secrets and turned into lies a long time ago,” he replied heavily. Grimacing, he shook his head. “I know there are risks, lots of risks, even limiting exposure the way I’ve tried.” Sighing, he shrugged. “I guess we’ll just have to play it out and see what happens. The fact that your diss is sealed at least means we can limit whatever we say about it, if questions do arise. But, you know what, Chief? I’m not even sure I went far enough. Crap like what happened at that trial will still happen, because … because most people still don’t know that press conference wasn’t true. But at least you won’t still be treated like shit downtown, and you have a chance to go back to Rainier, if you want it. You have choices again, Chief. You’re not trapped anymore.”

“I wasn’t trapped before,” Blair asserted irritably. “How many times do I have to tell you that I’m doing what I want to do? If I didn’t want the badge, I could have left town, changed my name, started over or just found work in another field. Damn it, Jim. Why couldn’t you ever believe me?”

Leveling a hard gaze at him, Jim replied, “You said you thought maybe you could be happy with her. That implies that you weren’t happy before you met her. Am I right? Huh? You think I couldn’t see what it was all costing you? Sure, I accept that you want to be my partner, and I’m damned glad of that. But you were dying inside. I couldn’t stand it, Chief. Couldn’t face myself in the mirror anymore. Couldn’t face you. It was too much; too unfair.”

“Is that why you barely had anything to do with me outside the job? Because you were worried about me and felt badly?” Blair demanded, his voice raw. “God damn it, Jim. Don’t you know that was the worst, the hardest …?” His voice faded and he swallowed. “I could deal with everything else. But I thought you regretted still having me around.”

Abruptly standing, needing to pace to work off the tension of heightened emotions, Jim growled, “Me? You were the one who pretty much moved out, Sandburg. She crooked her finger and you were gone.”

“To give you space,” Blair fired back. “We didn’t do anything together anymore; scarcely spoke. Never touched.” When Jim jerked his head around and stared at him at the last comment, Blair realized he may have revealed too much. Lifting his hands, he redirected, “Okay, so I admit I liked what she offered and lost my head for awhile. But I also thought you’d appreciate the peace and quiet.”

“I didn’t,” Jim returned. “Didn’t regret having you around; not at work, not here. Didn’t want the ‘peace and quiet’.”

“So it was all misplaced guilt, is that it?” he demanded in exasperation. “The silence, the distance?” Throwing up his hands, he stood and went back to staring out the balcony doors. “I thought we were past having some kind of balance sheet of who owes whom what, Jim. I thought … I thought what mattered was that we were able to work openly together and … and that we could still be friends.” Bowing his head, he murmured bitterly, “I thought giving you back your life, protecting your privacy and your secrets was what you wanted from me. Guess I thought wrong, huh?”

“I didn’t expect or want you to give up everything for me,” Jim protested, stung by the bitter tone.

“No, you expected me to screw you and run off to be rich and famous,” Blair grated angrily. With a low, hollow laugh, he reflected distantly, “I thought I could save what we had, you know? What was important between us: the trust, our friendship. But I didn’t, did I? I just backed you into a corner where you believed you had to bail me out. With the badge. And, when you figured that wasn’t enough after all, tonight, with a diploma and another job offer and … and your disclosure to make it clear that I wasn’t a fraud. That I hadn’t lied.” He sighed and scrubbed his face, pushed his hair back behind his ears. “But I did lie to all of them, didn’t I? For years. About why I was riding with you? About some mythical research on closed societies?” Swallowing hard, he whispered hoarsely, to himself as much as to Jim, “Sometimes I wonder if it hasn’t all been just one big lie. I wonder if you ever trusted me. Or if we were ever really friends. Or if maybe I just imagined all of it because I wanted it so bad.”

“Oh, for the love of –” Jim snapped irritably as he strode across the room to stand close behind Blair and grip his shoulders. “That’s crap and you know it. You didn’t imagine anything and it was all real. I told you a year ago that you’re the best friend, the best partner, I could ever have, and I meant it.”

“You haven’t acted like it,” he retorted. “Why didn’t you discuss any of this with me before you blew it wide open? Why couldn’t you trust me enough to let me know what you wanted to do?”

“Because you would have talked me out of it,” he replied hoarsely. “And that wouldn’t have been right, or fair. But … but I would have let you because … because everything in me wanted to keep it all secret.”

“We had good reasons for keeping it secret, Jim.”

“Not good enough reasons,” he countered. “Not reasons good enough to allow you to keep being treated like some kind of pariah, your word always challenged. Your life shattered because I was too much a coward to face up to my own senses.”

“Guilt,” Blair snorted and shook his head. “It always comes back to guilt and the fact you think my life was ruined or some damned thing. I don’t want your guilt, Jim. I never wanted that.”

“What do you want, Chief?” he asked then, his voice tight with strain. “You want to go back to Rainier? Be a professor like you had always planned? Well, now you can.”

“No, I can’t, even if I wanted to,” Blair growled and turned to face him, tilting his face to look up into Jim’s eyes. “There’d be too many questions. Too many would wonder why my dissertation was locked away; and there’d be too much speculation that would be too dangerous for you. I’d have to write a whole new paper on some other subject and graduate like everyone else before I could ever go back there safely.”

Troubled, not having thought of any of that, Jim’s gaze dropped to the floor. “Well, then, take the time to write another paper, if that’s what it takes to let you go back there.”

“Do you ever listen to me?” Blair exclaimed in frustration, grabbing Jim’s lapels and shaking him. “I said, ‘if I wanted to’ but I don’t. One way or another, I’ve told you for _years_ that I’d rather work with you than go back to the merry-go-round. I meant it, Jim; I’ve always meant it. You think I came back at the fountain because I want to be a _professor_? Why can’t you accept that I want the life we have now?”

Grabbing his upper arms hard, Jim bellowed like an animal in pain, “Because I know you’re not happy! I can feel it, sense it. You … you pretend and pretend that everything’s fine when it isn’t. I can tell there’s something missing, something you need. I look at you and remember the kid I first met, who was alive and bright and full of laughter and I see this man who is … is going through the motions. Who never laughs anymore. Never bounces with excitement anymore. And I don’t know what to do to get that kid back. I keep thinking I killed him … and that kills me.” He faltered and his gaze darted around, as if he were seeking words or inspiration. “I miss him, Chief,” he admitted brokenly. “I miss you.” Loosening his grip, pulling away from Blair, he turned aside and ran his hand over his head. “I didn’t do what I did out of guilt, or not entirely. I did it because I don’t know what else to do to make you happy. And I want you to be happy.”

“Ah, Jim,” Blair sighed and closed his eyes. “I was a kid, then. Excited beyond words to have finally found my sentinel. But that was before … before ….”

When his words petered off, Jim looked at him sorrowfully. “Before you died. Before you purposefully destroyed yourself on national television. Before you gave up everything for me.”

“No, man, no,” Blair replied, shaking his head, looking everywhere but at Jim. He tensed as if waging an internal war with himself, his fists clenched, his shoulders stiff and tight, his expression conflicted. And then he took a deep breath and swallowed hard. “You don’t understand,” he rasped, sounding strangled. “You’re right. I want … I want something that I can’t ever have. I want something that kid never dreamed of wanting, but there isn’t anything you can do about it. It’s my problem, man. Believe me, you do not want to know about it.” Lifting a hand in mute appeal, he hastened on, “But you’ve got to believe me when I tell you that I’m living the life I want. And … and nobody else can ever make another person happy, Jim. Happy is something we are or we aren’t. It comes from inside, or it doesn’t come at all. My happiness is not your responsibility.”

Puzzled, intrigued now, Jim stared at him, his gaze searching. “Who’s not trusting who, now, Chief? What changed? What do you want that you don’t have? I need to know. I need to understand. Tell me.”

“I can’t,” Blair stammered, half turning away. “I could ruin everything and I just can’t … can’t risk that.”

His brow furrowing in concern, he reached out to cup Blair’s cheek and lift his friend’s face toward him, but Blair kept his eyes hooded by the long lashes and he couldn’t read their depths. But he could feel the slight tremor rippling through his partner’s body and see the pallor of fear, the lines of pain etched around Blair’s eyes and mouth. He was hurting, hurting bad, trying to hold it all inside, and Jim couldn’t stand it. What the hell could be so bad that Blair wouldn’t just tell him? When Blair tried to pull away, to put some distance between them, he held on, wouldn’t let him escape his touch.

His touch.

Blair had said he missed his touch.

And that he could take anything but the distance that had grown between them.

Blair said he’d sacrificed everything to restore their trust and friendship.

Missed his touch. Wanted something that kid had never dreamed of wanting. Couldn’t have it. Couldn’t talk about it.

Left because he thought Jim wanted space.

He didn’t want to go back to Rainier. He wanted the life they had.

Missed his touch.

As enlightenment began to dawn, he sniffed the air, catching the scents of damp linen and hair, the subtle earth tones Blair chose for aftershave and cologne, so it wouldn’t bother his senses … and male pheromones. And not just his own.

When he sniffed, Blair’s body tightened defensively; he could feel the rigidity of the way his partner was standing, his need to pull away, and he could hear Blair’s breath catch. Lifting his gaze, he saw Blair staring at him, with something akin to horror sparking in the despair in his eyes. “Don’t Jim,” he pleaded hoarsely. “Please, man. Just let it go.”

Jim’s lips parted as full understanding hit him. Shaking his head, he rasped, “I can’t. You want me. That’s it, isn’t it? What you can’t tell me.”

“Ah, shit,” Blair sighed, appalled.

He could feel Blair tremble like a frightened colt as his partner’s gaze dropped, as if he couldn’t bear to look at him. Abruptly, Blair ripped himself out of Jim’s grip. “Why couldn’t you just leave it alone?” he demanded heatedly as he paced away, and then whirled back. “Why wouldn’t you just let things be?” He looked wildly around the room and raked his fingers through his hair, ruthlessly dragging it back from his face. “I’ve tried so hard for so damned long – and it’s not easy hiding from a sentinel, you know? Now what the fuck do we do? Dammit, Jim.” He lifted a hand and let it fall, helplessly; shook his head. All the animation bled from his face and his body slumped. “I guess this is it, huh? Now I really do need to move out. Just tell me that … that we can still work together. Don’t take everything away.” His voice caught on the edge of breaking and he clamped his mouth shut as he turned aside, his head bowed as he struggled to pull himself together.

“Just tell me one thing, Chief,” Jim replied, his voice low, insistent. “Is it lust or … love?”

Badly rattled, Blair laughed brokenly. “You have to ask?” His head lifted as he searched the ceiling, looking for something. Patience, maybe. “I don’t know, maybe some guys could sustain a case of unrequited lust for years; maybe lust would be enough to bring someone back from the dead. All I know is that when I was with Maddie, caressing her, inside her, all I could think about, imagine, was how much I wished it was you.” He shrugged, turned his head toward Jim but still didn’t meet his eyes. “I’d die for you, man,” he said hoarsely. “In a heartbeat. Without regret except … except it would mean that I wouldn’t be able to stay with you. God help me, I’ve strapped on a weapon and I’m willing to kill for you, to save your life. After tonight, I’m even more terrified that I won’t be able to keep you safe, that I won’t be good enough when the bad guys _know_ how to set you up and bring you down.” He swiped a hand across his face and sniffed. “Does that sound like _lust_ to you?”

Jim’s eyes burned and his throat thickened with emotion. Wordlessly, he crossed the space between them and gently laid his hands on Blair’s shoulders, to turn him and draw him into a firm embrace. At first, Blair struggled against him but, when he couldn’t break Jim’s hold, he stood woodenly, his head down, breathing harshly, struggling to hold himself together.

“It took love to bring you back from the dead, Blair,” he murmured into his partner’s hair. “Love that just couldn’t conceive of the horror of losing you. And … it took love to finally triumph over my gut-level fear about telling anyone what I am – but I would have gone public if Edwards had pushed me that far. You hear what I’m saying?”

“Brotherly love, Jim. It’s not the same thing,” Blair sighed and shook his head, once again trying to pull away, but Jim wouldn’t let him go.

Closing his eyes, Jim realized that he was now trembling, overcome with the unexpected, unlooked for, knowledge that Blair loved him in the way he’d longed to be loved for years. He’d never imagined this moment would ever come; hadn’t dared hope it might. Had kept himself locked down; had imposed the distance between them so Blair would never guess, never know. And he’d damned near destroyed them both, had driven Blair away into someone else’s arms. “I’m not into incest, Chief,” he finally managed to rasp as he cupped Blair’s chin and drew his face up, and then bent to kiss him.

Stunned, Blair didn’t move, didn’t respond, could have been a stone statue, and then he erupted, shoving both hands hard against Jim’s chest to break them apart. “What?” he cried out, outraged. “What the hell was that? You think I want a pity fuck? Nice of you to offer, man, but we are so not going there.”

“What are you talking about?” Jim bellowed back, royally insulted and defensive at being rejected after he’d finally made his move. Deep down, he was scared, wondering if he’d somehow misread everything. “You got the corner on the market on this love thing, Sandburg? You the only one here who can care that much?”

Breathing hard, Blair gaped at him. “What are you saying?” he demanded incredulously. “That you love me? Want me?”

Rolling his eyes in frustration, Jim’s lips thinned as he nodded testily. “Yeah. I thought that I was being pretty clear about that.”

Blair swallowed hard and looked away. Staggered by everything that had happened that evening, reeling like a man stunned by a near-knockout blow, he turned in a slow, slightly wobbly circle, not sure what to say, what to do. But he spotted the awards and, stumbling to a halt, he started to laugh … or sob; Jim wasn’t sure which, the sound was so raw and hoarse. “We have to give those back,” Blair said, gasping for breath. “Man, we’ve got to be the two _worst_ detectives on the face of this earth. Can’t even see what’s under our noses. God, how much time have we _wasted_?”

“Blair, come on,” Jim cajoled uncertainly, as he took a step toward his partner. But at the sound of his voice, Blair whirled around and launched himself at Jim, practically climbed his body, and clamped his hands around Jim’s head. Claiming Jim’s mouth with his own, he began ravishing him like there was no tomorrow.

Momentarily staggered, Jim quickly got his balance and shifted to take Blair’s weight. In a fog of desire, he moved them toward the table and hitched Blair up to sit on it while he pressed forward, between his partner’s legs. Hands fumbled with clothing, tearing off ties, ripping open shirts, and then roamed over hot silky skin. When he pulled Blair close in a crushing embrace, Jim felt his partner’s erection against his belly. In seconds, he had Blair’s belt loosened, the fly undone and he was on his knees, stroking and then licking, reveling in the sight and taste, the scent of his partner’s arousal. Blair clutched his head and moaned; and when his mouth covered Blair, sucking and swallowing, his hand massaging Blair’s balls and the base of his shaft, Blair shuddered ... his hips jerked and he came almost at once, gasping Jim’s name.

Drunk with passion, Blair pulled the condom from his pocket and ripped it open with his teeth. “Put this on,” he rasped, shoving the packet into Jim’s hand. He twisted to reach for the small bottle of salad oil in the middle of the table, and then stood, shakily, to kick off his shoes and lose his pants.

“Jesus, Blair, I –” Jim began, thinking it was all going too fast, that he hadn’t expected ….

But Blair looked up at him, his eyes wide and wary. “Don’t you want to?” he asked, tensing, as if for a blow.

“Yeah, sure, but –”

“I want this; I want you,” his partner insisted, panting. “Now. I want you now. I want to know how much you want me.”

Jim searched his eyes and he saw the longing there, the need to know he was loved, the need to know he was desired, and the breath caught in his chest. Memory flashed, Blair saying so hollowly that Maddie hadn’t loved him, hadn’t even pretended, and he wondered just how badly that bitch had hurt him after all. Mutely, he freed his erection and sheathed it, and then he took the bottle of oil from Blair’s hand.

Blair licked his lips as he watched him coat his fingers, and then he turned to bend over and brace his hands on the table, his legs spread wide, shirttails and suit jacket covering his butt.

Swallowing heavily, Jim caressed the globes of his ass, and then his fingers reached down to slide along Blair’s peritoneum from his testicles to the pucker of muscle. Blair was relaxed after his orgasm, and he wanted Jim with desperate need, so it didn’t take long to ready him. When Jim couldn’t wait any longer, he said briskly, “Turn around. I want to watch your face.”

Immediately, Blair turned and hitched his hips back onto the table. Leaning back on his elbows, his fingers gripping the edge of the table, he lifted his legs to rest his ankles on Jim’s shoulders. His expression was intense as he looked at Jim’s erection and then lifted his passion-darkened gaze to Jim’s eyes. Breathing heavily, he nodded, and Jim positioned himself against Blair’s opening and then gripped his partner’s hips. Slowly, watching Blair’s face, he eased himself past the loosened ring, into silken, tight heat.

“Oh, God,” Blair gasped and flung his head back, baring his throat as he dragged in air and his hips arced to meet the thrust. His heels dug into Jim’s shoulders and, his weight on his arms, he pushed forward, impaling himself faster than Jim had intended to bury himself inside. The muscles over his belly fluttered as his body adjusted to being filled. Gasping, looking utterly debauched with his shirt and jacket falling open over his body, he lifted his head and smiled brilliantly into Jim’s eyes. “This ‘stud’ wants to be ridden, man,” he rasped hoarsely. “Ride me hard.”

Grasping his hips, his feet braced, Jim obliged, slowly at first and then faster, harder, angling his thrust until Blair was writhing, urging more, calling him to let go his control, to fill him fully, again and again. Jim held his partner’s gaze and when Blair lost himself to the passion, he watched Blair’s expressive face, and all he could see was love blazing at him. His throat tightened and his eyes blurred as he panted for breath and exulted in the act of loving Blair with all he was … until he, too, was lost in hot desire as his hips pumped and he thrust in and out and back into the tight heat of rippling muscle and need. They were locked together when his orgasm hit and Blair’s muscles clenched around him, holding him, and he grunted inarticulately … and then Jim sighed his lover’s name.

Blair relaxed back on the table as he, too, gasped for breath. And when Jim was able to focus on his face, he saw tears glistening in those beautiful eyes, and leaking down the sides of Blair’s face. “Oh, God,” he gasped, immediately stricken, “did I hurt you?”

But Blair just shook his head slowly, side to side. How could he admit how much it meant to him that Jim had taken the initiative, had wanted to love him so thoroughly, or how the sound of his name so reverently whispered had pierced his heart? “No,” he finally rasped huskily. “You were great; it was all really great. Better than I ever imagined.” Sniffing, he swiped a hand over his eyes.

“Imagined?” Jim echoed. “You mean, you never …?”

Grinning, Blair again shook his head. “I’m a pitcher, man, remember? Never wanted to catch before,” he replied. Shifting, he let his feet slide down Jim’s arms and drop to the floor as he sat up and drew Jim close for a deep kiss. When he drew back, he murmured, “I truly love you, Jim. I swear to you, I always will.”

Hugging him fiercely, Jim sighed, “I know, Chief. Me, too. You do know that right? We’re clear now?”

Nodding against his chest, Blair replied solemnly, “We’re clear. Finally, thank God, we’re clear.”

“Good, because after you scrub the table, I want you in my bed,” Jim said, and then amended, “Our bed,” with a small, indulgent grin.

“After _I_ clean the table?” Blair protested.

“It’s your butt decorating it, Chief,” Jim chuckled as he moved away and pulled off the condom. Rolling it up, he dumped it in the trash and then washed the oil off his hands.

Blair looked over his shoulder at Jim’s back, and then down at himself. “How come you look like you could head back out to a party, all elegant and unrumpled, and I’m a half-naked mess?” he teased.

“Because …” Jim hesitated and then turned around to face him, revealing his own ruined shirt and bare chest under the pristine jacket. “Because I’ve been wanting this longer and couldn’t wait a moment more,” he replied, his expression vulnerable.

Blair blinked at him and narrowed his gaze. “How long, Jim? When did you know you loved me?”

“Lash,” he said simply. “When Lash took you, and I didn’t know how to find you.” Drying his hands on a dish towel, he asked, “How about you?”

“When I jumped out of that plane over Peru,” Blair told him. “Why didn’t you tell me? Give me some sign?”

Pulling the cleaner and a clean cloth from under the sink, Jim straightened and walked toward him, waving him off the table. “At first,” he said as he scrubbed the glass top, “because all you could see was the sentinel. And, later, after you decided to forego Borneo, I just kept thinking that when the next big assignment came along, you’d be gone.” Avoiding Blair’s gaze, he admitted quietly, “I couldn’t see why you’d give up everything for me. So I … I buried my feelings. Told myself they’d go away.” Swallowing, he added hoarsely, “They didn’t. Just got stronger.”

“And after you knew I’d give up everything, why didn’t you tell me then?”

Sighing as he dried the table, Jim shook his head. “I wanted to,” he said. “In the hospital, after the press conference. But … you looked so wiped out. And I still couldn’t figure out what you’d see in an old guy like me. I … I figured you’d done it because you thought you owed me, or something. Out of integrity and courage. Because I’d pushed you to the wall. I didn’t want you to feel you owed me that, too.”

Blair bowed his head and then bent to pick up his discarded clothing. “All the women,” he murmured. “I just never guessed, never imagined … and … and there were times when I was pretty sure you didn’t want me around anymore.”

“I gave you a lot of mixed signals, I guess,” Jim admitted. “Partly, I was afraid you were staying with me for the wrong reasons, giving up too much on my behalf.” He stopped wiping the table and looked at his lover. “I … I wanted you to have choices, but the lies … the lies just kept getting in the way, costing more. People, most people, figured we’d been lovers for years and I didn’t want to give them any ammunition to cause real trouble. Plausible deniability, and all that. Life partners can’t be teamed at work, Chief. You know that as well as I do.”

Blair looked at the awards, and thought again about all that Jim had said that night, up on the podium. “They won’t separate us now,” he asserted. “They can’t. They know now that I’m your guide.”

“That’s not why I told them, Blair,” Jim insisted.

“I know,” Blair replied. “You told them to get the heat off me. You got me my doctorate so … so I could choose a different life, if I wanted to. What would you have done if I had? Huh? If I’d grabbed that job offer and run?”

Turning his face away, Jim admitted, his tones rough with the vestiges of hurt abandonment he’d felt, “I thought I was losing you, that you were going to leave me, anyway. I figured I owed you the right to leave on your own terms.”

“So you would have just let me go?” Blair pushed, moving to stand beside him, gripping his arm. “Without ever saying anything?”

“You have a right to your own life, Chief,” he replied hollowly. “You’d given me nearly five years – I didn’t feel I could ask for more.”

“And now? What would you ask for now?” Blair asked.

Jim lifted his gaze, and his expression was as soft and vulnerable as Blair had ever seen on his normally sardonic or aloof features. “Forever, Blair,” he replied, longing resonating in his tones. “I want forever.”

Drawing Jim into his arms, Blair embraced him tightly, as if he’d never let him go. “Then forever is what you get, man. ‘Cause that’s what I want, too.”

Closing his eyes, Jim rested his cheek on the crown of Blair’s curls. As he wrapped his arms around his partner, all the residual anxiety he’d felt since deciding to share his secret more widely, to begin to tell the truth, melted away. “So you forgive me for doing it all without consulting you?” he asked tenderly.

“No,” Blair replied soberly. “No, I don’t. Not yet. Don’t ever do anything like again without talking to me first. No more secrets between us, Jim. No more lies, covert or otherwise.” Raising his head, he added with a sweet smile, “I give you points for meaning well, though. So it’s not a total loss.”

Jim smiled and scratched his cheek. “Okay, guess I can live with that.”

“So long as you live, man, I can pretty much promise I’ll forgive you anything,” Blair assured him, though concern dwelt in his eyes. “But if that dumbass move to make me look good downtown backfires and you get yourself killed because of it – not only will I never forgive you, I’ll kick your ass from one end of this universe to the other and back again.”

“If something happens, it won’t be your fault,” Jim replied tightly. “I don’t ever want you to think that.”

“Yeah, well, it’s a free country, so I get to think what I want.” He paused and then went on, “Like now, for instance. I’m thinking that since you made such fine love to me, I’d like to show you why I’ve got such a rep as a stud on campus.”

“Oh, you would, would you?” Jim smirked, relieved the conversation had moved to much safer ground.

“Yeah, man,” he grinned as his hand slipped past the ruined shirt and suit jacket, to caress Jim’s chest, his thumb tweaking a nipple. “You think you’re up for it?”

The intimate touch sent shock waves straight to his groin, and Jim gasped. “Yeah,” he agreed, sounding slightly strangled. “Worth giving it a try.”

Laughing, his eyes sparkling, Blair took his hand and led him up the stairs.

Jim smiled, feeling peace fill him at the sound of that carefree laughter. His Blair was back. And it seemed he was going to stay.

* * *

A month later, Blair was back in the witness box at the Burns’ retrial. Myers, once again the lawyer for the defence, looked smug, as if he was more than ready for a replay of the old match. Most of the other evidence was still circumstantial, or based on the word of a convicted felon.

“So, Mr. Sandburg,” he began, only to have the D.A. object.

“The correct address is Doctor Sandburg. The detective has submitted a dissertation that was accepted by Rainier University and he was awarded his PhD in a private ceremony a month ago. At the time, Rainier also made him a job offer that we’re very pleased he declined. Your Honor, I have the substantiation documents right here, should you wish to examine them.”

“Sustained.”

Myers couldn’t keep the surprise from showing on his face, and he seemed rattled by the unexpected news. Sandburg’s complete lack of credibility with that institution had been a pillar in his argument that this cop’s word couldn’t be trusted. “But, correct me if I’m wrong, Detective Sandburg,” he began again, reverting to the title the D.A. had used during the preliminary questioning to suck him in. “There was a press conference a year ago in which you –”

“Objection, Your Honor. Doctor Sandburg isn’t on trial here. That press conference is ancient history. The Detective has taken an oath to protect and serve this city, and he’s done an outstanding job in the performance of his duties. I have a copy of his latest performance review and arrest record, which I must say is impressive, should you wish to examine them to substantiate my claim that his word as a law enforcement officer, a specialist who witnessed the event at issue, is beyond question.”

The Judge studied the D.A., and then looked at Blair. “No need,” he decided, waving off the paperwork. “I’ve heard … reports from the Commissioner of Doctor Sandburg’s contributions. Objection sustained.”

Jim sat in the back with Simon, and both men were hard-pressed to keep from smiling smugly.

Scowling, not at all happy to have his strategy ripped to shreds right there in the courtroom, Myers looked from the Judge to the Prosecutor, and he wondered what had happened in the last two months to change things so significantly. Disgusted, knowing he had nothing left with which to impugn the witness, he turned away. “No further questions,” he growled over his shoulder. Burns gaped at him, stricken with the realization that this time he was going to lose.

“The witness may step down,” the Judge intoned. But as Blair passed before the bench, he added, “Congratulations, Doctor Sandburg, on recently completing your doctorate. I look forward to seeing you in my court again.”

“Thank you, sir,” Blair replied with dignity. “I’ll look forward to that, too.”

The members of the press looked puzzled, and wondered what they’d missed. But then they shrugged. It had been more than a year, after all; plenty of time for the young detective to have mended his bridges with the university and to have submitted another paper. Someone getting his PhD really wasn’t news. And if the D.A. and the Commissioner were so keen on him, well, then, it stood to reason that they weren’t worried about him being any kind of fraud or liar. Maybe he’d learned his lesson. Who cared, after all? That wasn’t news, either.

Banks, Ellison and Sandburg left the courtroom together, and strode along the wide marble hall to the outside. On the steps, Simon pulled a cigar from his pocket and sniffed it appreciatively. “Ah,” he said, “it’s so nice when a plan comes together.”

When the others just looked at him, brows quirked in amusement, he harrumphed. “Well, there’s another line I heard somewhere … what was it? Oh, yes. ‘And the truth shall set them free’.”

Both Jim and Blair smiled at that, took deep breaths of the freshening fall air, and nodded contentedly.

He patted them each on the back. “Good work, gentlemen.” Glancing at his watch, he added, “It’s late. You guys might as well head home for the day. See you tomorrow.”

Not needing any further encouragement, they thanked him and hastened down the steps. As they made their way toward Jim’s old truck at the curb, Jim looped an arm around Blair’s shoulders, and Banks heard Sandburg’s laughter ripple into the air. Well pleased, Simon smiled widely and sauntered down the steps toward the station. Joel and the others would be anxious to hear how it all went, and he was delighted to have good news to share with them. Their favourite detectives had weathered their crisis, and it looked like things were finally back to normal.

“Whatever normal is for those two,” he grumbled wryly to himself. But he couldn’t restrain his grin of pleasure to know his friends really seemed happy again. It had been a long dark haul, but they’d made it.

And they’d be fine.

_Finis_


End file.
